I love snow. I miss making snow angels, snow sculptures, and walking at night while watching the snow falling by moon or streetlight. My orientation toward playing in the snow did not change as I aged, although my willingness to spend hours on end in the snow did. As I dragged my trashcan up my steep driveway in the cold, thoughts of snow reminded me of a time when I could spend hours on end sledding with friends. Next thing I knew, I was traveling down memory lane.
Much of Maryland is relatively flat, Southern Maryland is even flatter than most. When I was eleven, my parents moved to a housing development in Southern Maryland, far removed from the suburbs immediately surrounding Washington, D.C. On a good traffic day, not counting rush hour, you could get to the edge of the City in about 25 minutes. My parents were drawn to Charles County because they were chasing the American dream of home ownership, and the developers of St. Charles, a new planned community, offered affordable housing within commuting distance to my father's work.
At first glance, we had no real snow sledding hills to speak of in St. Charles. But lucky for us kids, the only entrance into St. Charles crossed a set of railroad tracks. The developers in their infinite wisdom built a steep bridge to bridge the tracks supported on either side by a manmade hill. The bridge, flanked on either side by trees--a significant sledding hazard--was entirely perpendicular to the tracks, forming a sizable anticline approximately 30 to 40 feet high and approximating the shape of Rogers Bell Curve. That is, if you approached St. Charles on the 16% side and arrived at the first intersection within the development on the 2.5% side, which was the side we used for sledding. The other side was too steep and offered no breaking room before hitting traffic, traffic that was traveling at a much faster rate on Old Washington Road.
Lucky for me, my best friend Tish lived right across the street, not far from where the sleds would come to a rest after a breakneck ride. We'd exhaust ourselves lugging her wood and metal Red Flyer up the anticline while repeatedly battling a mob of kids for a spot to position her sled. (I don't remember our family ever being able to afford a sled, though we always managed to make do. Indeed, I spent many a winter wearing socks on my hands... as much, because I was famous for losing gloves.) Then, we'd drag our tired butts into her house for snacks and hot cocoa, where we'd watch TV while we rested and our clothes dried before heading back into the fray.
We didn't have many heavy snows after that winter season, and even though I was not outgrowing my desire to scream like a crazy person while flying down a hill, most of my friends were. However, our winters remained bitter cold, and the year the nearby quarry froze over, my friends recently abandoned childhoods were reclaimed for as many nights as the freeze held. We'd slip slide on our boots--the quarry rarely froze over and so few owned ice skates--while guys and gals engaged in the various mating rituals of teens. Essentially, the guys showed off and the gals feigned fear. Well, that was back in the day when many girls feigned not just fear but stupidity in the presence of boys.
Because of how the two-lane bridge (i.e., a single carriage way with one lane for each direction) leading into St. Charles was constructed and situated--meaning, the angle of the incline and its being flanked on either side by trees--, a driver would become aware of oncoming traffic only when cars crested the top of the bridge. The top of the bridge was one, maybe two, car lengths at the most, and given the relative flatness of the rest of the area, the ride in and out of the development resembled a roller coaster. I'd hazard to guess that I wasn't the only kid, nay only person, who experienced a certain amount of "Whee!" when rounding the top of the bridge in a car.
At some point, the developers built a second bridge, with one serving as a point of ingress and the other a point of egress. The second was an exact replica of the first with the same "Whee!" attributes. My father, a man of caution and foresight, told me as I was learning to drive, that I needed to make sure that I stayed in the right hand lane while traveling into or out of St. Charles on the bridges. He explained that there would be people who might forget that there were now two bridges, become confused, and travel the wrong way into oncoming traffic, and if we approached the top of the bridge at the same time, then the result would be disastrous. And even though I'd have to make my way to the left lane immediately after traversing the bridge top in order to head in the direction of home, I followed my father's advice.
Years passed, I moved away from home, my father died, and l came home to visit my Mom every six to 12 weeks. Eventually, traffic into St. Charles became heavier, traffic lights were installed at either side of the bridge, and traffic flow became patently obvious. Also, it became increasingly difficult to follow my father's advice to drive up the right lane and cross to the left lane only after cresting the hill. Doing so, often meant I had to bypass that light at the first intersection on either side of the bridge and I'd have to take a longer route. So like everyone else, I started using the left lanes.
One glorious fall day--the sort where summer gives one last appearance under the limitless blue of a fall sky--, I followed the left lane on my side of the dual lane road across Old Washington Road and up unto the "new" bridge. It was Saturday, mid-morning and traffic was surprisingly light--indeed, mine was the only car entering St. Charles. It was as if all the commuters in this now bedroom community were enjoying a languorous morning of pampering after a hectic workweek. At the half way mark and out of the blue, I heard my father's words of caution in my ear as clear as the day he first offered that bit of advice. I laughed at myself, as I superstitiously moved into the right lane.
A split second later, as the front of my car was about 10 feet from top of the bridge, a convertible came barreling down the wrong way in the left lane. It took less than a second for the front ends of our cars to be side by side. The convertible's top was down and two teenage boys were laughing heartedly in the front. Worse, two teenage girls were sitting atop the back seat like they were Homecoming Queens, arms waving in the air, shrieking in delight. Little did they know just how close they were to an actual homecoming.
Make of this occurrence what you will: coincidence, divine intervention, intuition, or dumb luck. The road I've travelled has been graced with moments like this.
Trust your intuition, Divine intervention and your father's advice, Claire. Thankfully, you did. That is why you are here for me. (♥)
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