>Close Call
>The thought of Monteagle had been haunting me for days.
It’s the most daunting part of a trip from Nashville to Atlanta, involving a steep drive up one side of a mountain and a harrowing ride down the other. But to keep things in perspective, I’d put its fear factor at about three.
Monteagle, you see, has neither the seat-clutching thrill of the highway up to Highlands, North Carolina nor the Lord’s Prayer-inducing switchbacks on the mountainous road leading to Ouray, Colorado, a road so dangerous that they close it during the winter months, leaving the entire town completely cut off from civilization.
I’ve been on both those roads and survived. And I’ve driven back and forth over Monteagle at least a hundred times. Despite that, all last week, each time I thought of my impending road trip, I got nervous.
Still, I had decided not to let my fears rule my life. Beyond that, I’d promised Punky and Bruiser a trip over fall break to see their grandparents. Resolutely, I put Monteagle out of my mind, loaded up the car and the kids, and headed out onto the open road. We drove on Sunday, when the sun was shining, the air was crisp and the traffic was minimal. Bruiser fell asleep almost instantly, Punky quickly became engrossed in a DVD, and life was good. We made it to Monteagle with no problem and climbed to the top without incident.
As I drove across the top of the mountain, I passed off my fears to watching too much television news. But then I saw road signs warning of our impending descent, and my stomach roiled. I began breathing faster and felt the cold grip of panic around my heart.
This is crazy, I told myself. You can’t give into this… this… paranoia. I took a few deep breaths and formulated a quick plan. I would drive down the mountain in the right hand lane and go very, very slow. I would keep lots of distance between my car and the cars around me. I would be extra cautious. I would be fine.
I said a quick prayer, moved into the right lane, rested my foot lightly on the brake, and began coasting down the mountain. Cars sped past me on my left. I looked straight ahead, focusing on getting down the mountain safely and leaving my ridiculous worries behind.
As I neared the bottom of the mountain, I breathed a sigh of relief. We were going to make it. My fears had been completely unfounded. And then, all of a sudden, the wheel turned outward on a bicycle strapped to the back of the SUV in front of me. The bike lurched away from its rack.
“No!” I gasped, and at that moment, the bicycle flew off the back of the car, right into my path.
“Oh God!” I shouted as the bike bounced on the interstate. I swerved and managed to edge my car right around the bike. Had I been a normal “safe” distance behind that car, and not a panic attack-induced ridiculously cautious one, the bike would likely have hit my windshield or gotten caught up in the undercarriage of my car.
I looked into my rearview mirror and saw cars swerving right and left around the final curve of the mountain, trying to avoid the bike as it bounced across the interstate. The bike’s owner pulled off into the emergency lane. How they planned to recover their bicycle, I have no idea.
For a moment, I was speechless as the adrenaline continued to course through my body. Finally, I spoke, tears in my eyes.
“Thank you God. Thank you God. Thank you God,” I whispered over and over again. It was a sappy Guideposts kind of moment and I didn’t even care. I looked back at my kids in the rearview mirror. They were jabbering happily to each other, completely unaware of how close we had all come to disaster.
My family called my strange fear of Monteagle a premonition. Whatever it was, it just might have saved three lives. And so I think I’ll be listening more often to the worrisome little voice of caution that whispers in my ear from time to time. Maybe it’ll be wrong.
But what if it’s right?
