I spent a lot of time when I was younger visiting my sister Sherry and my brother in-law John in the huge state of Texas. I’m trying to remember the very first time that I ventured into the deep southwestern part of our country. If memory serves me correctly, and it doesn’t always, I think I made my first trip there by car with Sherry. That trip stands out rather clearly as my life story could have ended right there and then.
I know we were going to pick up a friend of my sister’s somewhere in Missouri on our way, but this near-tragic incident occurred prior to that. We were traveling in one of those infamous areas that twist and turn through and around high rocky outcroppings. You must know the kind of terrain that I’m talking about, where there are constantly signs warning of falling rock zones and blasting areas. Another interesting sign states, “do not turn on your radio!” I suppose that they thought that the Beatles music would cause an avalanche or maybe an earthquake. In all reality, I think it had something to do with the dynamiting that was going on.
Anyway, neither explosions or rock slides caused our demise, but rather a falling rock the size of a basketball nearly could have. Luckily for us, the runaway stone just missed the back of my sister’s car. I wonder if my sister was trying to get rid of me, since she had me get out of the car on the wicked stretch of highway and retrieve that “stone of death” for her rock garden. That incident has always reminded me of a scene from my favorite movie “Long, Long, Trailer,” where Lucille Ball is always getting Desi Arnez to risk his neck trying to reach an unreachable piece of rock for her collection.