What you need to know about white dirt is that it takes away your choice in where and how you want to drive. When we picked our sleeping spot at the trailhead, Mom used what we had learned about getting stuck to put the Covered Wagon in the best spot for escape once all the white dirt was out of the sky and on the ground. That meant earning tons of points while she turned to aim the Wagon’s nose at the road, on what she hoped was a flat spot. The trouble was that each time we stopped and then tried to go uphill, the Wagon did a swaying little dance, and often went backward when it was supposed to go forward. Mom growled and groaned, coaxed and cajoled just like she does when she wants to take a photo during my union-protected break time. “Did you try giving it treats?” I suggested. With difficulty and time, Mom convinced the Wagon to sit about 10 yards back from the road, where the ground was mostly flat. As she arranged all the blankets over us she said, “I sure hope the plows come through in the morning to clear all that snow off the road so we’re not trying to drive 50 miles in this crap.” I didn’t know what a plow was, but I was too tired for one of Mom’s vocabulary lessons.
worship mittens. We hadn’t planned to visit the gods on this trip, but when Mom recognized where we were, we held a quick front seat council and decided that since we were 2 days ahead and all, that we should definitely make a detour. So that’s what we did. Only we took the long way round to avoid a dirt road that curled thousands of feet straight down the cliff face. “I’ve had enough of sketchy driving,” Mom said.
Oscar the Pooch
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