Music boomed from the backseat speakers as we bounced and swerved our way out of the city. Ignoring internal safety promptings, I perched myself on the middle hump between the seats so I could be closer to Steve. In three hours, my shift would start so a drive to the country seemed like a fitting way to spend our together-time.
Dark clouds were gathering and icy rain was spitting on the windshield but we wouldn't let the typical late-November weather discourage us. We were both native Oregonians. Cold rain was in our blood.
As we climbed, the road narrowed and there were fewer and fewer oncoming cars. Oak trees and pastureland gently morphed into towering Douglas Firs skirted by native sword ferns. I scoured the sidelines for wildlife but the land seemed barren and desolate. The higher we climbed the darker it felt, save for the few large areas where an early snow was apparently thick enough to persist.
A large metal gate signified that we'd reached the end of the main road. Just to its left, smooth-as-glass snow covered the ruts of a gravel road that led down into deeper woods.
Momentary discouragement was quickly snuffed out by Steve's thirst for adventure. "There's a road," he said. "We'll just take it." Then, in hopes of getting me fully on board, "Come on, it'll be fun."
His fearless prodding was met with my anxious protestations. "Let's not! It looks kind of scary. We don't know where it goes."
"Yeah. So let's find out."
It took maybe a mile to figure out that this road was going nowhere. Maybe Steve was getting bored. Or maybe my anxiety was finally getting on his nerves. Whatever the case, as soon as the vegetation widened, Steve turned the car around to head back.
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We didn't get very far before the tires began spinning. We'd completely lost traction.
"Hmm, it's icy," Steve said, while putting it in reverse.
My anxieties grew with each attempt to gain footing and climb the hill that seemed to elude our attempts. We'd gain traction, go five or so feet, then start sliding again. As time wore on, our efforts seemed futile and my anxiety, always a loyal companion, had reached panic mode.
"Let's walk back up to the main road. Hopefully someone will drive by and stop to help us."
We hadn't walked very far when something on the side of the road caught my eye.
"Look!" I said pointing to thick chain links, partially buried under browning white. At that point in my life, rusty things didn't have they allure they possess now. The only reason I mentioned them at all was because it seemed odd that here sat a partially submerged product of man in the midst of God's country.
Steve, however instantly went from quiet worry to animated hope as he bent down, grabbed the exposed chain, pulled and shook the snow and icy bits off what appeared to be tire chains. Two of them. Sitting here on the side of the road like they were just waiting to be discovered and employed. Like some divine hand placed them here. For us.
"These are exactly what we need to get out of here."
It took some doing, but we made it up the icy hill and onto the wet pavement, back to the obligations of city life. Since that incident many years ago, Steve is a little more interested in what I think on a matter. If not, all I have to do is mention, "Larch Mountain..."
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