Which Way is Best?
Ever have a time in your life when you have to make a choice about a matter that has literally life and death consequences, and you chose wrong? My time for making a wrong choice came on a dark Arizona mountainside around midnight.
I was around twenty-four. I’d bought a brand new Ford Bronco and had been giving it the biggest “testing” a reckless “I-can’t-die” guy could possibly give a vehicle. There was nothing I wouldn’t dare. Of course, at that age many of us, typically males, feel we’re somehow invincible, that the bullet is going to hit the “other guy,” and that we’ll escape death, somehow. I definitely was numbered amongst that group.
I was working at a place that produced printing plates for big print jobs and custom printing. I was the photographer and ran this huge, 10 foot long camera. Well, the camera wasn’t ten feet but it was hooked up to a rail that ran almost 10 feet. I could take the smallest picture or image and blow it up to create a negative that was crisp and would enlarge to poster size with little loss of definition. It was a fun job.
The owner brought in this young guy from New York to run the place. He was maybe a year or two older than me and very citified. I don’t think he’d been out of New York City in his life. So, after work one night, I said, “Hey John! Wanna see what the mountains are like at night?”
I explained to him my recent purchase and that I had explored this one place that was pretty fascinating and thought he’d probably enjoy the trip. He was eager to go. (Later, he’d completely lose all his eagerness.)
I’d been to this place once before. To get there, I had to take a small, dirt road that led up into the mountains. First, I had to cross someone’s ranch. The way I knew it was a ranch was because of the “No Trespassing” sign posted, and the gate that I had to get out and open to enter the land. It was out in the middle of nowhere. I’d been there in the day previously and had seen nothing once I’d gotten onto the ranch, except huge boulders and distant canyons. It was one of those canyons about ten miles away that I wanted to reach.
It took us a couple hours to get there, so it was just after midnight because we’d left the office around ten o’clock in the evening. It was slow crawling most of the way because once I left the ranch and got deeper in, the terrain became rocky and very dangerous. The road wasn’t really much of a road. It wasn’t graded or anything like that. It was just a road that existed because someone, decades ago, perhaps a hundred years ago, had traveled it with wagons, probably.
My Bronco slowly crawled its way up and down boulders, down crevices, and through rocky gorges. It was a bright, moonlit night, so it was not difficult to see where we were going. And, since I’d made the trip once, I knew pretty much where I was going.
He was really excited and was enjoying the trip. For a kid who’d never been outside the city, this was quite an adventure for him. But, I could tell he was a bit scared because at times he’d wonder out loud whether we should attempt to go up a steep incline, or down an incline, usually into a gorge, or down the side of a rock strewn hill that led to a climb up to the top of the ridge.
Finally, we got close to our destination. It was a large stream, about ten feet wide, that ran down the bottom of a small canyon. There was a fair amount of greenery there and huge boulders that were tumbled about as though God had tossed them down like a kid tossing his marbles on the ground. I loved that place. It was so serene. In fact, I’d later take Trudy, my to-be-bride there one hot summer day and serenade her on a boulder with my harmonica. (Turned out she was no fan of the ride either, especially the ride out which was kind of dangerous.)
We hung around awhile. He explored the area a bit, admiring the magnificent view of the blue-black canyon before us and the scenic beauty of the trees and cactus surrounding the little oasis. Then, it was time to go.
In my previous trip, I’d discovered that getting out did not require backtracking because if I climbed up the narrow switchbacks up the canyon wall, it led to a road which ended at Black Canyon Highway, which led to Phoenix. Ahead of us lay a narrow road comprised of a series of switchbacks winding up the side to the top of the canyon. I’d estimate the height of the canyon to be about 250′ high. It was a steep road, mostly around 20 degrees, but at times closer to 25 degrees.
It was easily manageable for my 4-wheel, 8 cylinder Bronco. But, the real danger lay at the top. There, there was no real road at the top. Instead, there was huge cracks in the earth, some as wide as four feet. It was as if there had been a series of earthquakes which produced these dozens of cracks in the earth. So, I had to wind my way very slowly to avoid these cracks, sometimes creeping within inches of my tires.
After about 50 yards, the road appeared and was normal. John was probably more nervous than he showed, but I have to hand it to him, he held up pretty good. He didn’t get too excited, but I noticed he didn’t talk much during the ride up the canyon and across the cracks, other than to advise me to be careful now and then when we got close to a crack on his side.
Then, I made on of the worst mistakes of my life. But for the grace of God, I should have died that night. When I’d come there previously, I’d seen a small mountain, maybe 3-400 feet high that the road ran past. I’d noticed earlier that it actually has a small gravel road winding up it to…somewhere. I was determined to know WHERE that trail took me.
Back in those days, I was an explorer. If I’d been born in the 1800’s, I’d probably have been one
of those mountain men. These were men who, for the adventure (and some for the money) headed west into the unexplored wilderness. Those men knew only this much about that country: it was the most dangerous place in America. The mountains contained every kind of danger possible. If the fierce winters and incredibly dangerous storms didn’t kill you, the Indians who lived there and called it home, would try. And, if they didn’t, then the grizzlies or the wolves saw you as a free meal and had dragged many a man off to lunch.
But, these early explorers had two insatiable hungers. One was for adventure. The other was for money. For most of them, it was a job. Men like Kit Carson, who wanted to see what was beyond the next bend of the river, or beyond the mountains that lay before them. I was that kind of a young man. As a kid growing up in Louisiana, I wandered the woods, always wanting to know what lay beyond the woods in front of me. There was always an expectancy that I’d make some kind of discovery. I was never looking for anything in particular. I just wanted to know what was there. What mysteries lay in that patch of forest in front of me?
My curiosity nearly got both of us killed.
I stopped suddenly and said, “John, I’ve been wondering where that road goes. Wanna check it out? Let’s see where it goes.”
I don’t recall waiting for an answer, but I do recall there was no objection. As I said, he was a game little guy, even if he was a city boy. So, I turned off the road and headed for the mountain. In just minutes, I was there.
I put the Bronco in the “granny” mode. That was the lowest gear ratio. The road up looked pretty steep and, unlike the recent 20-25 degree road we’d just traversed up the side of the canyon, this one looked closer to 30-35 degrees. It was also very narrow.
I know my Bronco was only about five and a half feet wide and the road could not have been wider than six feet and maybe another inch or two, but no more than that. It appeared I had maybe 3 inches on either side of me. The road also had a series of switch-backs.
We made the first switch-back without much trouble, though the gravel was pretty loose and a couple of times we slid backwards. The second switch-back was more difficult and we slid back several times. I should have had sense enough to call it quits then, but I didn’t.
I was in the middle of the second switch-back when I knew we could not make it. We were pretty high up by now. However, there was literally no place to turn around. I decided to back down to the end of the first switchback which had a slightly larger area (but not much) where I could, with much effort, get turned around.
My passenger, at this point, said, “Voyle, I’ll get out and guide you.”
I laughed and agreed. No sense in both of us dying.
I wasn’t afraid. Not yet. I had a sense of danger, but still felt like it was manageable. I was worried, but I felt I could deal with the situation. All I had to do was slowly back down. After all, I’d literally “backed” down several times already when the rocks beneath the tires turned into a small rock slide and took us with it for several feet.
So, he exited and I began. He turned out to be worthless as a guide. And, it wasn’t more than two minutes when I came to the realization that it was absolutely impossible for me to back down. I could not see where I was going and, as I said, the New York city boy he was pretty much useless. You’d think it would be fairly easy to back down a road. Trust me, backing down a road littered with stones that are all two to four inches (and some larger) at midnight is…or was for me, impossible.
At this point, I dared not even exit the vehicle because my foot was on the brake all the time. Finally, I yelled out at my New York friend, “Hey man! I can’t back down. I’m going to have to turn around.”
He insisted there was not enough room. He even walked around, looking and making mental measurements which he conveyed to me, trying to prove to me that there was not enough room. I refused to accept it and determined, based on what he told me, that I had around 4-6 inches to maneuver and that should be enough. But, inside I was trying to shut down the growing fear that was trying to get inside my head.
I’d already played out the scene in my mind and saw the whole thing that I was about to try and do and realized that I had one great obstacle to overcome. I doubted seriously that I could get around that obstacle. As I thought about it the doubts began to bubble up.
You see, one thing I knew about my Bronco, which I’d heard stories about, was that it was top heavy. There had been a lot of complaints about those early Bronco, and later designs didn’t seem to solve the problem. It took several lawsuits to change things. Mine was around six feet tall and much of that was from the 70 pound removable steel roof, which is what affected the center of gravity and made it very top-heavy.
I knew that once I was sideways on that road, the odds were very, very high that I’d just roll over and keep on rolling all the way down. It wasn’t a roller coaster ride I wanted to take and my mind was racing, exploring all the options that kept me from taking that 100 foot or more ride down the mountain side.
Finally, I hit on a plausible solution. The passenger window was down. I removed my seatbelt. My plan was that when I’d reached that sideways position or close to it, I’d position myself so that I would dive through the window as it rolled, hoping it didn’t roll too quick and grab my legs as I exited the window. I don’t recall talking to my New York friend during any of this time. I may have, but it’s probably not likely we had much conversation. There just wasn’t anything to say or discuss. There was nothing he could do to help. I’d made the error and it was up to me to fix it.
Slowly, I began inching the vehicle around. I’d turn the wheel left, pull forward as close to the edge as possible, then, turn the wheel the other way and back up until the bumper touched the mountainside. I did that for what seemed to be forever. I really do not recall how long it took, but I’m guessing it probably too about twenty minutes or a half hour, at least.
I was near the critical point. Already, I’d slid a couple of time when nearly perpendicular and with the next pull forward, I knew I’d be 90 degrees to the road and my body, at the wheel, could very soon be slamming towards that road. Looking back, I should have just put on my seatbelt and accepted the fact that I was in for the ride and I’d either emerge alive, or not. My plan to leap out the window was, in hindsight, very illogical and against the laws of gravity and every other physical law in existence.
There is no way I’d have been able to dive that fast through that window. I’d have ended up laying on the middle of the Bronco, which, when it made its roll would have tossed me down the road and then probably rolled right over me. Dumb idea. But, I was a dumb kid, at times.
Oh, I was a bright kid in many ways. In school, I seldom studied hard. After boot camp, the US Navy sent me to a school to become a Radarman aboard a ship. In one of the classes, the Navy Chief gave the class a final exam which required us to navigate our ship out of the San Francisco harbor. He dismissed everyone after the test, but kept me back. He then said, “Glover, I’ve been doing this for years now. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you cheated.”
He’d already marked me down as a goof-off and I’d gotten the best grade. He made me do another test…which I also passed with high marks. I remember him shaking his head in disbelief as I left the room.
You’d think a kid that smart would be stupid…but I had some really dumb moments. This surely was one of the dumbest and ranked right at the top.
Finally, I reached the point I dreaded most. And, my fear was realized. I began sliding.
I knew instantly that the second those wheels hit a large rock and stopped suddenly, the weight of the roof would roll me over. There had been accidents across the nation where the tipping point had been far less than what I was doing. I was on an incline of at least 25 degrees, and probably closer to 30 degrees. I’d already concluded that once the slide begins, if it goes more than a couple feet, the weight, momentum, gravity, and all the laws of physics that I knew and that I didn’t know were going to kick in and that I was very likely to roll down that mountain. In short, I was in danger of becoming a real “holy roller.”
I slid about four or five feet and suddenly stopped. I was ready to leap for the window at the slightest inclination of the vehicle to topple. I don’t recall being afraid, though I’m sure I must have been. But, when you’re in such a situation, there really isn’t time to be afraid. You’re just fully alive with every nerve and muscle energized with a massive flood of adrenalin. I wasn’t thinking about dying. I wasn’t even thinking. I was just in a reactive state of mind and body, ready to do whatever the situation seemed to demand. If I made the right moves, I lived. If I made the wrong moves, I died or suffered serious injuries. But, you don’t think about those things in the moment. You just know.
The second it stopped, I was fully alive and ready to leap. But, nothing happened. I remember sitting there in disbelief. My worst fear had just happened, but the outcome I’d expected did not materialize. It was like someone pointing a loaded revolver at your head, someone who’d shot a person already and you knew it. Then, he pulled the trigger but there was no explosion. There was nothing. It was akin to that in terms of how I was feeling.
I don’t recall what I said, but I’m sure I let out a whoop or a yell of exhilaration. I was too wound up not to have done that. I slowly inched the Bronco around and in a few minutes, my New York tourist was back in his seat and we were headed out to the Black Canyon Highway and home. I’m not sure why he left that job sometime later and I believe he returned to New York. I’ve always wondered whether I had anything to do with his leaving.
THE COMING CHOICES
All of us have faced hard choices in life, some worse than the one I described. And, there will be more to come. One thing I’ve learned from that event and even more, as I’ve matured and now have enough grey hair and wiser little grey cells, is that the decisions we ultimately make in bad situations are not the most important thing.
What saved me that day was not my preparedness. And, that was not my “lucky day.” The truth is, in hindsight, I know absolutely that Bronco should have rolled. I know that, now. Back then, I chalked it off to being that proverbial “lucky day.” Luck had nothing to do with it. The laws of physics said that Bronco, with it’s 90 degree position to the road, with its momentum gained in the several feet it slid, and with its nearly 4000 pound weight, should have rolled like a giant metal marble off that mountain.
WHY THE BRONCO DIDN’T ROLL
It didn’t roll because an angel of God stood there holding it. I’ve no doubt that entity was shaking his head slowly in disbelief over my stupidity. I sure would have (and do). I know that God spared my life as sure as I know my own name.
And that’s the takeaway from this piece.
What’s your relationship with God? Are you one of God’s children, as I was on that day? If so, you have an angel assigned to you, ministering to you. God placed you on the earth for a reason. If that mission is not done yet, then that angel’s responsibility is to keep you alive. Sometimes, the angel has to intervene in your life even where you have been the one responsible for placing it at risk.
WHAT ABOUT THOSE OF US WHO DIE OR DON’T DO SO WELL?
We often wonder why God didn’t intervene in certain circumstances. That’s a question for another time, another piece, but suffice it to say that sometimes, God allows us to suffer some of the consequences of our actions. His reasons are beyond our ability to understand. I only know this: If your mission is not completed, you are immune to death.
Think of those early Christian martyrs who were fed to lions. Could God have saved them? Of course. But, they had a job to do. What was that job? In part, to be a witness to those who murdered them, but even more, to be examples to us, to show us that our lives belong to God and that we’re to take the words of Jesus serious when he said:
“And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:28-31).
Don’t be afraid of people, or events, or even death. If you are a child of God, then you’re in good hands. Even bad things will work to your good. “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose” (Rom 8:28).
We all make bad choices in life. Those choices have consequences, sometimes bad consequences. But, realize that God can take your bad choices and turn them to good. It may be years before you see the good. Indeed, you may die before you ever learn what the good was that God brought about. And, quit worrying about dying. You may have made a choice that has death as a consequence. Know that for a child of God, death is a transitory thing which brings you from a sluggish, worm-like existence into a wonderful, never ending story that is so magnificent that it cannot even be imagined.
“But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9).
Here’s a good message to encourage you:
God is in Control
