God Was Listening

When he heard that the western United States, especially California, was drying up. Like a dog with six teats for eight puppies, there was something about too much consumption and a dwindling supply. The Colorado River, so vital to the water supply for California is shrinking.

Not just there.

Lake Meade, a place I drank many a beer while jamming with other musicians, was shrinking.

No snow.

Karen and I hit the high Sierras a couple years ago, and there were a few of the higher mountains that had a little, but overall, it was bleak.

Yes, there was a pandemic going on, so all the more reason to avoid the slopes.

Big-time blow to the tourist industry.

So quit your bitching as you start shoveling eight feet drifts off your house and driveway; it’s for a good cause.

The survival of the human race.

God was listening as he first heard Turkish earthquake survivors, and led the heroes working there to find them.

Don’t tell ME there’s no such things as miracles.

God was also listening when I decided, at the ripe old age of twenty, to take my thirty-five year-old girlfriend’s tricked-out Porsche Turbo Carrera and see “what it could do” as I decided to test the candy-apple red, white-leathered, gold -trimmed speed racer on one of the most up&down, hilly roads in northwest Tucson. I can only describe it as a roller coaster highway.

The night (yes, I was intelligent enough NOT to go during the daytime with great visibility) started very innocently enough.

I had an old pick up truck which I think was part of the draw this ex-dancer held for me. In fact, on reflection, it was a simple, pure, and fun relationship.

But I think you can cut out all the reasons or guesses.

I think I made her feel dirty.

As I turned onto the road, barely wide enough to qualify as a two-lane, I gunned the engine and did the requisite burning of the Pirelli Tires and screeched and swerved into action. I was a little hesitant because, as I approached about ninety, I found the car leaving the road for increasingly longer times.

So slow down and just keep the rubber on the road, right?

Oh hell, no.

I hit 120mph and had just shifted to fifth gear when…

Damn if there was but ONE turn on this entire five-mile road, and off I flew into the Sonora desert night, cutting a twenty-foot Sahuaro Cactus in half as I came to rest in a dry river bed, luckily missing a large patch of prickly Cholla cactus.

It wasn’t an easy go trying to explain the accident to Teri, my girlfriend. The car was a wreck, but I was unmarked and intact.

For some strange reason, unbeknownst to myself, she evidently decided not to pursue our fledgling relationship any further. It didn’t matter her insurance covered the whole thing,

She booted me out of the condo most unceremoniously as I recall.

The absolute nerve of some people.

Stay well.