I was having bad dreams thismorning about driving the canyon, Topanga Canyon.
It was different in the dream, theroad, more like Kanan, wide, with longdownhills.
Kanan is hardly a canyon ( Isuppose it’s not a canyon), more like a high, mountain pass, road carved on thehillside, though it does follow a canyon high up on the hillside.
They had to change the rules thereafter awhile: Too many trucks crashing because they couldn’t stop at thebottom. They put up new signs: “No vehicles with trailers; no vehicles over acertain weight”. Good thing, too.
I remember the last crash—an oiltruck: liquid fuel of some sort. They said the driver rode it out, steering itright across the intersection and into the hillside * Kah- bloo-ee! * He waskilled of course—fireball—but died a hero. He could have jumped.
The brakes had gone out, as theywould often tend to—asking an engineer—what with the big trucks like that, andthe hill was too long, too steep.
So, in my dream, I was drivingTopanga—only it wasn’t Topanga, not how it is—and I was all over the road, outof control, heading downhill. At one point, I’m all the way to the oppositecurb on a curve, an oncoming car zooming by going uphill, and then I’ve passed him on the complete wrongside of the road—crazy—and l just can’t seem to stay slowed down.
Wide shoulder with curbs, greenlawns beyond—Topanga doesn’t have any of these, not in real-life.
Anyway, , two hours later, inreal-life, I’m driving uphill on Topanga, going over the crest. Then I pass acar starting on the downhill when a little bird flies up and * thump* ,guts and blood, or turd—I can’t tell—are smeared on the windshield.
Dammit, I think, orsome-such like feeling/exclamation of regret. I take it calmly, but still…
There was no chance—he flew up atthe last second—nothing to do. A slamming of the brakes would’ve done nothing,a reduction in single digits, and then possibly a further wipeout, onlycompounding, not saving anything.
I think it was a night-hawk, a whippoorwill. Friends ofCharon, they are my friends when I’m on the trail at night. They have lead mewhen I was unsure, eyes glowing violet in the bicycle light’s reflection…
Little bird—the size of the splat being so large inrelation—had to be fatal. Regret; that’s what I feel.
There was nothing to be done, I regret…