First Security Bank had provided me with an Olds Ciera for making calls, which was available for personal use if I paid for the gas and maintenance. Just before New Years 1986 Ellen, Margaret, Martha and I started at noon to drive to Arizona to see family. The trip was much anticipated since our weather had been three weeks of an inversion of smog/fog.
At Tocquerville we exited I-15 so we could drive past Colorado City where the polygamists were living and then to Jacob Lake and Navajo Bridge. Margaret volunteered to drive so that I could catch a nap. Soon after leaving Jacob Lake and heading down toward the Bridge, she hit some black ice. The car veered right toward a steep drop off; then the car hit some dry pavement and careened left toward the rock wall, hitting it and then sliding across the highway toward the cliff. The car settled just at the edge of the drop off.
But the crash into the rock wall caused Ellen and Margaret to hit the windshield and Martha and me in the back seat onto the back of the front seat. I recall feeling a sharp pain in my lower back which paralyzed me and prevented any monvement. I heard the Ellen and the girls wailing and moaning. I finally opended the back door and rolled out onto the pavement but couldn't get my legs to work. Finally I was able to arise and to appraise the damage. Margaret was almost crying while she wailed, "I'm so sorry, Dad." She observed that Ellen's face was covered with blood. I crawled across the front seat, put my hands on Ellen's head, and blessed her to recover. It would appear that the blood ceased to flow promptly.
The left front of the car was mashed, so there was no moving it from the right lane. One car careened by us to stop down the hill. A person walked back, and around the car, and left without a word. Later we were told it was an Indian who reported no problems. Margaret took a blinking signal up the road a distance to warn oncoming vehicles. About 20 minutes after the accident, another car and trailer almost hit us and then came back to assess our condition. He said that he would call the police, who came in another 20 minutes. The officer called for an ambulance and a wrecker from Kanab, about 40 miles distant. The patrolman asked us many questions, took Margaret's license, and repeatedly talked to Ellen who had a concussion. We were freezing, partly from shock, but Ellen was particularly in a worrisome state. The ambulance arrived after 45 minutes and the wrecker shortly thereafter.
Finally we were loaded aboard the ambulance and headed for Kanab with some polygamist nurses caring for us. It seemed to take a long time but they didn't feel were injured seriously. At the Knab hospital we were examined, x-rays for the girls, and tested for various conditions/ailments. At 11 o'clock we were released to go to a motel for the night.
On Saturday morning I called Brad but couldn't reach him. So I called Dennis to have Brad call, which he did at 9:30 AM. We waited all day for his arrival at 6:30. After a short trip to the garage, we loaded our gear into the Mercury to reach home at 10:45 PM.
As we mused on this episode, we feel most blessed that we sustained only minor injuries. We had many thoughts about our blessings from the Lord, especially that the car had not gone over the cliff.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Wild ride down I-80 canyon
It was the summer of 1950 that I decided not to return to the farm in Weston. I needed a job for the summer, which came about through the help of Jimmy Reed. He was a delivery man for Coca Cola of Salt Lake. I got the delivery route that no one else wanted and with the truck that should have been retired. It was a Ford 1940(?) that had only mechanical brakes and transmission.
My route included the west side of SLC around the area of West High School. Two days weekly I drove up the canyon to Park City and Kamas. In those days Park City was almost a ghost town. Maybe 100 people lived there, since the mines had been abandoned years before.
On a warm August afternoon I was driving home down I-80 freeway that had been completed but for the construction zone at Lamb's Canyon. This was the largest site that had required months of filling the canyon with thousands (millions?) of tons of dirt and gravel that had to be compacted prior to paving it with asphalt. The roadway over the fill was really bumpy, requiring vehicles to transverse it at about 5 MPH to avoid going over the side for a 1000 foot drop off.
On this beautiful descent down the smooth freeway I decided to kick it out of gear and coast along at about 50 MPH. I was enjoying the scenery until I noticed ahead about half a file the Lamb's crossing. So I hit the brakes to no effect, then I pulled the emergency brake with a similar result. So my next remedy was to try to shift into high gear. But with the prehistoric transmission it was not possible to shift into high, then I double-clutched and even triple-clutched to make engaging high gear. Needles to say, although I make all of these efforts to slow down, the half mile to the crossing had shortened considerably.
I seem to recall that a prayer was formed in my mind, while I was trying to do my personal best to save my truck and life. So I made a final effort to jam the gear shift into high---Hallelujah, it popped in, slowing me down some. Pretty quickly I made the next down grade into second gear. My next frantic effort was to aim the truck onto the track across the crossing. We hit the crossing doing about 20+ MPH. Coke bottles were flying off the top of the truck as I guided the truck so as to avoid the drop off into the canyon. The truck bounced along and finally arrived at the paved freeway and a slowing stop on the side of the pavement. There I likely offered a more orderly prayer for the help of my guardian angels.
No more coasting for me!
My route included the west side of SLC around the area of West High School. Two days weekly I drove up the canyon to Park City and Kamas. In those days Park City was almost a ghost town. Maybe 100 people lived there, since the mines had been abandoned years before.
On a warm August afternoon I was driving home down I-80 freeway that had been completed but for the construction zone at Lamb's Canyon. This was the largest site that had required months of filling the canyon with thousands (millions?) of tons of dirt and gravel that had to be compacted prior to paving it with asphalt. The roadway over the fill was really bumpy, requiring vehicles to transverse it at about 5 MPH to avoid going over the side for a 1000 foot drop off.
On this beautiful descent down the smooth freeway I decided to kick it out of gear and coast along at about 50 MPH. I was enjoying the scenery until I noticed ahead about half a file the Lamb's crossing. So I hit the brakes to no effect, then I pulled the emergency brake with a similar result. So my next remedy was to try to shift into high gear. But with the prehistoric transmission it was not possible to shift into high, then I double-clutched and even triple-clutched to make engaging high gear. Needles to say, although I make all of these efforts to slow down, the half mile to the crossing had shortened considerably.
I seem to recall that a prayer was formed in my mind, while I was trying to do my personal best to save my truck and life. So I made a final effort to jam the gear shift into high---Hallelujah, it popped in, slowing me down some. Pretty quickly I made the next down grade into second gear. My next frantic effort was to aim the truck onto the track across the crossing. We hit the crossing doing about 20+ MPH. Coke bottles were flying off the top of the truck as I guided the truck so as to avoid the drop off into the canyon. The truck bounced along and finally arrived at the paved freeway and a slowing stop on the side of the pavement. There I likely offered a more orderly prayer for the help of my guardian angels.
No more coasting for me!
Monday, March 8, 2010
ROTTERDAM TO ISTANBUL
I had hoped to organize an event for our family that we would enjoy and always remember. Since I had been traveling Europe for several years, I hoped to share the history and beauty of Europe with our entire family. My plan formed in my mind around the summer of 1975. We would rent a small boat in Rotterdam or Amsterdam and head up the Rhine River, across the new canal to the Danube River and on to the Black Sea and then down to Istanbul. This journey would probably take four to six weeks during the summer. Further, we would want to take it in the coming two summers before Doug would serve a mission.
We would sleep on the boat which we could anchor any time we wanted. The scenery along the Rhine and Danube would provide ongoing sights that would inspire our imaginations about the great events that had transpired over the past centuries. Whenever we stopped, we would ride our bicycles around the countryside to visit the castles, museums and villages.
To allow us to enjoy these adventures we would assign certain members of our ontourage to study a language that could be shared with all of us as we encountered the natives. These languages would include Dutch, German, a Slavic or two (Roumanian which is similar to Italian, and Bulgarian), and lastly Turkish. Needless to say, with a year or two before engaging in this adventure, we could become familiar with the history and sights along the route so that we would be sure to enhance our pleasure.
On a trip to Washington, D.C., in November 1975 I arranged an appointment with Melvin Payne, President of the National Geographic Magazine. He listened to my story about a family of 10 boating across Europe, and the suggestion that we would photograph and write an article for the National Geographic Magazine about our trip. He asked if I would be capable of taking pictures of our adventures. I assured him that I had a fine camera and knew how to use it. He seemed quite interested in my proposal, but he said that he would have to present it to their editorial staff to see if it would fit in future issues.
A few days later Andrew Brown, Assistant Editor, wrote to me on November 21 to say that they had already considered such an article by their staff people. At a later meeting Mr. Brown said that I might try my plan with the airlines which all print their own stories in their in-flight magazines. He gave me a list that included TWA Ambassador, PanAm Clipper, British Airways Highlife, Air France, Lufthansa and National Airlines Aloft.
Looking back I recall that this plan caused some excitement from our family. Each of us thought about which language we might focus on and what preparations would be necessary.
We would sleep on the boat which we could anchor any time we wanted. The scenery along the Rhine and Danube would provide ongoing sights that would inspire our imaginations about the great events that had transpired over the past centuries. Whenever we stopped, we would ride our bicycles around the countryside to visit the castles, museums and villages.
To allow us to enjoy these adventures we would assign certain members of our ontourage to study a language that could be shared with all of us as we encountered the natives. These languages would include Dutch, German, a Slavic or two (Roumanian which is similar to Italian, and Bulgarian), and lastly Turkish. Needless to say, with a year or two before engaging in this adventure, we could become familiar with the history and sights along the route so that we would be sure to enhance our pleasure.
On a trip to Washington, D.C., in November 1975 I arranged an appointment with Melvin Payne, President of the National Geographic Magazine. He listened to my story about a family of 10 boating across Europe, and the suggestion that we would photograph and write an article for the National Geographic Magazine about our trip. He asked if I would be capable of taking pictures of our adventures. I assured him that I had a fine camera and knew how to use it. He seemed quite interested in my proposal, but he said that he would have to present it to their editorial staff to see if it would fit in future issues.
A few days later Andrew Brown, Assistant Editor, wrote to me on November 21 to say that they had already considered such an article by their staff people. At a later meeting Mr. Brown said that I might try my plan with the airlines which all print their own stories in their in-flight magazines. He gave me a list that included TWA Ambassador, PanAm Clipper, British Airways Highlife, Air France, Lufthansa and National Airlines Aloft.
Looking back I recall that this plan caused some excitement from our family. Each of us thought about which language we might focus on and what preparations would be necessary.
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