Driving uphill on a winding two-lane road, I was the head of a small convoy of cars, people going as a group to do something exciting like base jumping. We’d been told by a man at the motel that this particular two-lane road led to a breathtaking view of the Grand Teton mountain range, and it wouldn’t be far to go, and it was well worth the detour. I drove ahead of everybody, in my new Toyota Camry, gray-brown SE. October early snow patches lay everywhere. There were absolutely no signs telling drivers anything about a viewpoint or dangerous curves, so I just kept driving at a reasonably safe speed.
I noticed a beautiful area plot on the left that could make a nice homestead with a view, and as I followed the road on a curve to the right, thinking about what it would take to build a house there, I abruptly found myself on a dead-end, turnabout-circle, black top area, iced over. There were several men apparently working around the edge of the circle, without tools or vehicles. As my car slipped forward, I gazed at the cliff that seemed to magnetically pull me to its thin strip of grassy edge. The Camry slid sideways in slow motion, while I struggled to unlatch my seatbelt and get the door open so I could jump out. The men looked up and tried to wave me off, without themselves stepping onto the icy black top. I could hear them shouting, but obviously, too late. I saw no fencing at all, of any kind, fixed on the cliff edge to keep even a cow from going over. I tried to open my door, but I was already at the edge, seat belt still holding me in, and a sinking feeling of despair sucked my stomach into a heavy knot. Strangely, I was able to notice something like a nature-made piton right on the edge of the precipice and thought that if I could grab that and get pulled out of the car…but it all happened so fast that I had no time before my car and I sailed out over the cliff edge, sailing, lowering, into a deep, deep mountainous chasm stretched far underneath.
With a sharp start, I woke up in my bed, slightly sweating, heart palpitating. I slid out of the covers and sat on the edge, thinking, “Okay, that was some you-gotta-wake-up-dream to have!” I walked to the bathroom, did my duty, drank some water, and timidly returned to bed. My husband was sound asleep. Hoping that dream was a thing of the past, I gently rolled onto my side, and fell asleep.
Driving uphill on a winding two-lane road, I was the head of a small convoy of cars, people going as a group to do something exciting like base jumping. We’d been told by a man at the motel that this particular two-lane road led to a breathtaking view of the Grand Teton mountain range, and it wouldn’t be far to go, and it was well worth the detour…
(This was a real nightmare that occurred midnight morning on October 28, 2014. It might have something to do with the precipices I’m facing right now in life—the coming loss of my parents (within the next year), the change in jobs, moving to a part of the country I’ve never lived in before with new scenery, history, climate, and adventures, saying goodbye to friends…when I told my little sister this morning, she said, “Sounds like you’re excited to go to the new place, because it seems promising…You’re going uphill because it’s been a struggle…Snow patches represent the obstacles along the way… Your convoy is your truck and car….I’ll be back after lunch and finish,” leaving me without the rest of her analyzation!)