A Survivor’s Story
by Brendan Smith
Weirs Times Editor
The following was written by a Flatlander who will remain anonymous. I am reprinting here as a hard lesson that others need to learn.
If you are reading this message, then it may already be too late.
I am scratching it out on the back of a bunch of gas receipts lying abut the floor of my car.
It is past seven now and the sun is just beginning to set. At least the spring hours have kept that light around a little longer.
I had a slight feeling it might be a mistake when I made the turn. I should have heeded my instincts. I had never been on this road before, but the constant bouncing up and down on the frost heaves on the paved road I usually traveled had done a number on my back’s alignment and the potholes I couldn’t avoid were doing a number on my car’s.
I was foolish to think, no matter how many times I was told it was impossible, that I could find a way to avoid it all.
I had always passed the sign for this road during the winter months, but never dared to travel it. I had heard through legend that it led, eventually, over to that one lane route that would still take me home. Perhaps now, with spring coming on slowly, it would be I better shape.
I didn’t think it could be any worse.
At first, I thought I was fine. The road, even though it was dirt, seemed as though it had enough gravel to carry me over its soft surface. But then, as I made the turn onto the next unfamiliar surface, I knew that I was in trouble as I came face to face with something I had heard about but thought was an overblown tale to scare me.
The mud was thick and deep.
At first my four-wheel vehicle seemed to be handling it well. I knew I only had about a mile and a half to travel, but after the first tenth of that first mile, I realized I was getting in too deep.
I was too far in to try and make my way back from where I came. I had no choice but to continue forward.
My car was now working hard at not traveling sideways and I was making little progress. Then I looked ahead and knew it was over. The muddy road started to ascend, and I knew that my four-wheel drive mid-size SUV was no challenge for this endeavor no matter what they promised in the commercials.
Still, some sense of invincibility foolishly overtook my rational thinking and I pressed hard on the accelerator thinking I could make it over the crest to a possibly better world.
And now I sit here, stuck deep in the mud, the sun slowly setting and no sign of civilization anywhere and I can’t raise a single bar on my phone.
I do see some smoke rising off in the distance. Being spring, it could possibly be a sugar shack producing maple syrup. I could make the effort over land to get there for some help. But what if I am wrong? What if it is a family of black bears boiling the remains of others like me who foolishly took this road?
I decided to stay put, the sun sinking and the chill settling in. I turned on the heat in the car. I could feel myself getting a little weaker. It had been at least two and a half hours since my last meal. How long could a double cheeseburger, a plate of fries, a chocolate shake and a giant peanut butter cookie keep me nourished?
I turned on the radio to hear some human voice to keep me company. A commercial came on for a local car dealer who was having a “Mud Season Special Sale”. I felt as if I were being mocked and I shut it off.
I was now alone with my own thoughts. I had moved here expecting a better way of life and now, it seems, it was to end like this. The cruel irony.
It is now approaching seven-thirty. I have been here a whole half-hour (almost). I knew it is only a matter of time until the elements would do their damage, until the desolation infects my thinking and turns me mad.
I leave this note behind to the others that come after me. Don’t make the mistakes I did. Stay on that known path, no matter how treacherous and bumpy it seems for you will never know what lurks on the road less traveled.
I am feeling weak. I will stop now.
About two minutes later a group of high school kids in a pickup came by and pulled him from the mud and towed him to the paved road a quarter mile ahead. He was grateful to live to tell the tale and gave me permission to reprint this as a warning to other Flatlanders.
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