G.A. Albrethsen's Blog: Age of Restoration, page 6

…you might be an Age of Restoration reader

In January, 2012, I self-published The Foolish and the Weak, the first novel in the Age of Restoration series.

Now, hopefully in the next few days, the follow-up book, The Wise and the Mighty, will launch. To mark the occasion, I thought I’d take a few moments to borrow from the Jeff Foxworthy “You might be a redneck” theme, to describe to you the kind of readers who might enjoy these novels most.

If you don’t mind a bunch of genres and subgenres mixed up in a book, you might be an Age of Restoration reader. Mystery, suspense, action and adventure, fantasy, sci-fi, and paranormal are all elements in these novels, with faith, principles, government, and family thrown in for good measure. You’ll notice I did not refer to religion and politics, though reviewers have identified them as being a part of the first book. I beg to differ, but realize that most people consider faith to be religion, and principles to be politics, as much as I would argue otherwise.

So, if you don’t mind a healthy mixing of all of those things, you might be an Age of Restoration reader.

You will also find current events, technology, and cars in the books. Those are things I like, and so to some degree, I’ve incorporated them. While the stories are fictional, they are set in the modern day, and so for a requisite amount of realism, those kinds of things appear.

If you like current events, technology and cars, or don’t mind reading about them in fiction, you might be an Age of Restoration reader.

I like books that not only have a plot and good pacing, but ones that make you think. Whether it’s solving a mystery or questioning social and cultural norms, I want readers to pause and think about what they’re reading. Novels which stimulate reason as well as imagination are better, in my opinion. I like to engage the mind and explore possibilities, not just entertain. That might mean it takes a little longer to read the book than it might otherwise, because you find yourself pondering things.

So, if you don’t mind using your brain as you read, you might be an Age of Restoration reader.

Things aren’t always as they seem. The characters and narrative might lead the reader down one direction, then another, and still one more, before finally getting to what’s actually going on. In my mind, I see it like a camera shot which gradually goes from an extreme close up to an extreme wide shot. You can’t always tell what’s going on to begin with, but by the end of the story, a lot of things should tie up. You should be able to see a larger picture than you did to begin with.

If it’s okay to be lost for a while, you might be an Age of Restoration reader.

Not every last little detail or question is answered in each book. This is a series, and while I know each book should stand alone, I also believe each should fold into the other. The first three books are actually a trilogy, but since I do have a fourth book planned that will follow a different character where the third book leaves off, I hesitate to use the term trilogy. Plus, there are three other books that will be developed from characters introduced in the first three books, and they may or may not come under the Age of Restoration umbrella.

That means, there might be plenty left hanging until a character gets their own book.

If needing to read more than one book to get plot lines and questions resolved is okay with you, you might be an Age of Restoration reader.

I like to have fun. I like to create. I like questions, but I like answers more. When the answers I get don’t make sense, or seem illogical or contradictory, I come up with my own answers. The Age of Restoration series was born out of me having fun creating answers to questions that were otherwise unsatisfactory. By the time book seven comes out, the majority of those answers will be revealed in novelized form.

If you don’t mind taking the journey with me, you might be an Age of Restoration reader.

One last thing. There are layers to the stories. You’re welcome to read them for their elements and plots, but you might find it intriguing to determine what things are or mean. In other words, reading a passage more than once or linking them with others might be just as fun as reading straight through.

If you’re not in a hurry, and want to look for deeper purpose or meaning in the stories, you might be an Age of Restoration reader.

Okay, that’s it. I hope you read and also enjoy the Age of Restoration series.

Five reasons why I deactivated my author’s facebook page

I must say, my more personal foray into Facebook did not last long. Probably not the shortest stay ever, but after a month or two of surveying the landscape, I decided it wasn’t worth it. If you have a Facebook page, swear by it, love it love it love it, that’s perfectly fine. I’m not trying to tear down, or even convince anyone else they should get off, really. Mostly, I’d just like to say why I’m not there, in case anyone really noticed or cared.

So, here are the top five reasons why I deactivated my personal/author page on Facebook, in no particular order.

1. I don’t think anyone is really going to notice or care.

As far as I know, unless I tell you all I’ve disappeared, you won’t know I’ve disappeared (even then you probably wouldn’t know, or care, because you missed it in the timeline or don’t really go over to other people’s Facebook pages regularly).

2. Facebook is different than Twitter.

By and large, in my brief stay, I had a lot of the same people on Facebook as I do on Twitter. There were some new faces, sure, but people I guess I’m used to only interacting with on a professional basis were more personal than I’d anticipated. Apparently, that’s the point, which is, again, fine. If that’s the point than, do it. However, I guess I just didn’t need to know as much as I was getting to know about people. On top of that, I was thinking, well, I don’t know if there’s all that much I’d like to share about me, and while I’m there, reading what they’re putting in (nothing horrible or out of the ordinary mind you), it just wasn’t why I was there.

3. More going on than I expected.

On Twitter, you really don’t get friend requests, unless someone sends you a DM or tweet asking you to follow them back. In Facebook, though, friend requests are a part of the deal, and so the decision to accept or not accept friendship requests are a part of the deal, too. I don’t know that I want to be ‘friends’ with everyone who wants to be ‘friends’ with me, especially if they’re going to invite me to play games four or five times a day, or send me some other kind of invitation constantly. Maybe they do that to everyone on their friends’ list, but it doesn’t say, “This is a bulk invitation, don’t take it personally!” anywhere on the invite. Sorry, but I just don’t feel the need to be playing some game in the middle of the day when I’m trying to get work done. There just didn’t seem to be a polite way to tell someone that, either.

4. My whereabouts would show when I posted something.

Not at first, but something changed in about a two week period, to where it would say my posts were coming from my current location. I didn’t do anything, as far as I know, to turn that on, and in fact, I didn’t really have any location listed in my bio or settings, so it was something Facebook was doing through my IP address, I suppose. I tried to find where to turn it off, but I couldn’t. Facebook, in many ways, is not that intuitive for me, which might actually be another point, but not a main factor in why I left at this time.

5. Facebook was hacked. Again.

Not sure how many of you have been following all the hacking of accounts that has been going on, from government websites to commercial, but there’s been a lot of it lately. Facebook has been a part of that. I will probably need to have my page deleted entirely to avoid having my information culled, which, as I said, I didn’t have much up there, but if Facebook can locate me, and hackers can hack Facebook, it follows that hackers can locate me, too, doesn’t it? I just don’t need that in my life, if it’s at all avoidable. Hopefully, it is.

Okay, there’s the list. I guess I could go on, but for what purpose? The majority of us are too busy going about our daily lives to notice who drops out or not. The reaction, if there is one, is not much more than a collective, “Meh.” That’s because we really don’t know others online, and if we think we do, well, we’re setting ourselves up for a world of hurt, I think.

I guess I’ll keep the Age of Restoration Facebook page for now, and try to direct people to like it more. And I’ll do some more advertising through Facebook, since it’s been the best bang for my buck, but as far as personal postings or the like, I’m checking out.

Meh.

Pre-launch announcement for The Wise and the Mighty, series pricing, and final cover reveal

I believe it is safe to announce that The Wise and the Mighty, the sequel to The Foolish and the Weak in the Age of Restoration series, is very near launch.

If you’ve been paying attention to the countdown to the right of this post, you’ll see we’re getting close. We’re in the final edit and while the deadline, as always, is self-imposed (perks of self-publishing), the book’s editor and I will be doing the best we can to get it out to you on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and iTunes by March 15. Don’t hesitate to stop by for future updates in the coming days and weeks.

Currently, and for well over a month, The Foolish and the Weak has been on sale for 99¢. That sale, however, disappears when The Wise and the Mighty launches. The Foolish and the Weak will bounce up to $2.99, making way for an introductory price of 99¢ for The Wise and the Mighty. Then, The Foolish and the Weak will increase to $4.99, where it will stay indefinitely. It may come down to $2.99 here and there, but as long as I have any say, The Foolish and the Weak will never be 99¢ again.

Likewise, after launch, The Wise and the Mighty will be available at $2.99 until the third book, Same Mind, Same Judgment comes out. Same Mind, Same Judgment will debut at 99¢, and then it will go up in price to $2.99, while The Wise and the Mighty joins The Foolish and the Weak at $4.99.

I figured I’d let you know so that you can get the best deal you can, while you can, on these books. For what you get—a very good book delivered instantly to your reading device without the need to leave the confines of your home to do it—$4.99 is cheap, let alone 99¢.

You will notice I didn’t mention free. No free books from me. Again, as long as I have any say about it. A lot of time and effort went into these books, so 99¢ is the lowest I’m willing to go, and then, only for a limited period of time.

That’s not to say there won’t be some kind of free promotions of related merchandise, like T-shirts, just not the books. Never, ever, the books.

One more thing. Since we’re close to launch, I thought I’d reveal to you The Wise and the Mighty book cover.

Back at the end of May last year, as you might recall, I solicited your opinions because I had two book covers to choose from. If you want to see how that came about, or refresh your memory on the choices, follow this link. While not an official vote, it was a fun way to see how different people see different things in book covers. However, I had to make a decision between the two, and go with the one I felt best represented the book overall.

So, without further ado, here it is.

I know some of you will be disappointed I didn’t choose the other. I know this one doesn’t match the first book in style. However, I do believe it sets the tone better, and more accurately depicts what is happening in the book, aside from being an awesome illustration. Thanks goes to William Kenney, who not only illustrates books, but writes them, too. I highly recommend him for book cover illustration. You can check his pricing here, and see if he’s available.

If you haven’t bought The Foolish and the Weak yet, get it while you can at the 99¢ price. You can get it for Kindle and Kindle apps, for Nook and Nook apps, or for your iPad, iPhone, iPod by clicking on the appropriate link.

Bound for Rexburg—Part VI

I had planned this trip to specifically avoid driving at night in the Blue Mountains. Now, here we were, well after sunset, making our second ascent of the day.

While it was pretty tense for me, not knowing if we would hit a patch of black ice as we climbed and made the curves, or if something else might happen, the rest of the group seemed to calm down a little. Some even slept. I left the radio on trying to listen to a bowl game that we’d intended to watch with pizza in our hotel room in Boise. At least we did get to hear some of the game when the signal was strong enough.

Because it was harder to tell in the dark what the road conditions might be like, I went slower than I might have in the daylight, which only added to our time on the road. It was frustrating to say the least, particularly since, after about 100 miles, the highway was still bare and we were out of the mountains and into straightaways. I woke up Trevor, who was continually nodding off in the back seat, to let him drive for a while. This was his trip, after all.

We rolled into Boise sometime around midnight, their time. There wasn’t much said or done after that. We got our overnight bags up to our room and went to bed, since we had an early start for the next morning.

Well, morning came quickly, and so we didn’t get out as early as I would have liked, but we did have daylight, dry weather and bare pavement. The wheels managed to stay on, too, another plus. We made it all the way to Rexburg without incident, where we spent a few hours unloading Trevor’s stuff, getting him settled, going to a Walmart for groceries, and saying our goodbyes. It was around 9 pm when we returned to Boise that night. Road conditions and weather held up the entire leg of the trip.

In fact, it stayed that way until we reached The Dalles in the Columbia Gorge the next day. Snow began to fall, light at first, then heavy, and began to accumulate on the roadway. Most motorists slowed way down, but there were about a half dozen who thought they could continue at higher speeds, and so they passed us. Within two miles, we came across most of them parked on the side of the road helping another maroon colored SUV (might well have been an Explorer) on its side (passenger) in the slow lane. I can only imagine how that might have happened.

We continued on. After about an hour of slow, tense driving, we finally out ran the snowstorm. About two hours later, we arrived back at home, safe and sound and only a litte worse for wear.

The thing that kept playing in the back of my mind was it could have been worse. We saw worse, with both SUVs that crashed. While not ideal, and not how I wanted to do it, we made it, and we were able to keep to our three-day timetable. Many thank yous were sent heavenward for helping us with the weather and the roads.

Now, you might think the story ends there. The rather nightmarish road trip to Rexburg behind us, we could get on with our daily lives.

Well, that lasted until the following Monday.

It was about mid-morning. Angela was on her way to buy groceries for the week. She left the cul-de-sac, and made a right hand turn at the next street. As she did, she started to feel some shaking. Not knowing what it was, but our trip fresh in her mind, she pulled over to the curb and got out. After a short inspection, she found the rear wheel on the passenger side was loose. Not only that, but just like it’s companion on the other side, three lug nuts were missing. The studs were also sheered off.

In a panic, she called me. I happen to work at home, so it took three minutes to get to the corner. By then, she had a friend of hers and her husband looking at it. The consensus was, we’d need a tow truck. Again.

About an hour later, the Durango was at our local Les Scwhab. I got a call telling me that the wheel would need to be replaced. That now made two, since the other side was still running on the spare. I had the Les Schwab guy call up the history on his computer of what had been done at the store in Pendleton, and after reviewing it, our local guy said they needed to get to the bottom of what was happening. About two hours after that, we finally had an answer.

Somewhere around Thanksgiving, our local Dodge dealer, after several weeks of attempts to try to figure out an electronic issue (the slippery when wet icon kept coming on when we would make a turn), decided to switch out the oversized tires that were on the vehicle when I bought it back in August to regular-sized tires they had lying around the shop. The tires they’d put on were relatively new, with good tread, so I said, sure, let’s try it. Well, at their behest, we drove it for over a month that way, and eventually, the electronic issue was resolved.

It was in the changing of the tires where the mystery of the lugnuts began. In order for the oversized tires to fit, rings were put in to allow them to balance properly. When the regular wheels replaced them, the rings were not removed. Thus, when the lugnuts went on, they did not settle properly, even though they were torqued completely. So, after that, over time and miles of use, the lugnuts began to unscrew.

All that needed to happen in either event where the lugnuts fell off was to have a fourth one come off, and our situation would have changed drastically. More damage to the Durango, more costly to fix, and potentially, issues with injuries to us. To say we weren’t being watched over that whole time up and back to Rexburg, to me, would be the height of ungratefulness. My family and I feel truly blessed and thankful that despite the inconveniences and the stress and the costs to tow and repair incurred, that we are alive and well and able to tell the tale.

Bound for Rexburg—Part V

The ride down the mountain to Les Schwab took about twenty minutes.

In that time, we learned about how Chris became a tow truck operator, the fact that he’s on call 24/7 and only sleeps in fits and starts, how his son was doing, and at least half a dozen of the rescues he’d been on. While the latter left me cringing (the woman who called them from inside the car which had been literally run over and crushed in by a truck to tell them she was still alive and she could see them was the most incredible), I liked his dogged determination and unrelenting desire to be the best. All because of an experience he had with a tow which was more than lacking. It was atrocious. So, he decided to step into the void and do it better than anyone else.

Once at Les Schwab, though, there were more minutes of uncertainty. I was not privy to the conversation, but after hopping down to speak with the Les Schwab guy who would be fixing our Durango, Chris came back to tell us that we might be spending the night. Apparently, the studs we needed from Dodge were harder to get than most. There wasn’t a dealership nearby, so it could require ordering from some parts place in the Tri-Cities or something, which would mean an overnight stay in Pendleton.

Again, I wasn’t happy. By now, it was too late to call the hotel in Boise to cancel a night’s stay, so we would pay for it. Plus, we would have to locate three rooms in Pendleton, which isn’t necessarily overflowing with hotels. Who knew if there would be any available at this late date, and just how much they would charge because it was last-minute. Not wanting to think about that, I pushed it out of my mind. It wasn’t going to be something I could control anyway. So much, at this point, was out of my control.

So, we spent a few more anxious moments while Chris unloaded the Durango in a bay and the Les Schwab guy made some phone calls. Then, as the rest of the group went inside the store to wait, I stayed behind to see what we might be doing for the night.

“I’m surprised,” the Les Schwab guy announced, putting down the phone, “but we can get the parts tonight. We can get you fixed and out the door this evening.”

Thank you, I said to myself. It wasn’t directed to the Les Schwab guy, but heavenward. Things would turn around.

So, I joined everyone else in the waiting area, and told Angela what was happening. She was relieved to hear the news. We settled up with Chris, who didn’t charge us nearly what I thought he might, and thanked him profusely for his service. He wished us a safe trip, told us to be careful with the mountain, and disappeared into the night.

As it turned out, not only did the studs have to be replaced, but the wheel too. The holes where the studs poke through had been wallowed out, making them more oval in shape than round. Fortunately, there was a regular sized spare, never been used, bolted underneath the Durango which could be used in its stead. In order to loosen the nut holding the bolt and spare, I had to unpack half of the back, which was filled to the brim with Trevor’s stuff, just enough to open up the hatch in the floor. And of course, that meant repacking when they were done. I think I managed to get everything put back.

In total our stay at Les Schwab was around an hour an a half. They checked the rest of the wheels and found out that at least two lug nuts on each of them were also loose, so they torqued them up to where they needed to be. Why they were loose, no one seemed to have an explanation for, however. Other than weeks earlier, the dealer where we took our Durango for service had changed the oversized tires that the Durango came with for regular sized tires in a bid to fix a phantom electrical problem that nothing else they’d tried had been able to fix.

The consensus was, the dealer had not torqued the lug nuts sufficiently, and now, after extended use, they were starting to spin off.

Thinking the mystery was solved, and assured that the broken wheel was now fixed, we paid the Les Schwab bill and headed back to the Durango for another foray attempt into the Blue Mountains. This time, though, it would be in the dark, with the temperature dropping. Weather conditions were holding, so no new precipitation was expected, but I remembered the words Chris had left cemented in my mind. “We’ve had a few days of good weather. We rarely go more than two days without a change.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Bound for Rexburg—Part IV

A half an hour later, we were still sitting on the side of the road.

During that time, a few others stopped, including a woman who worked for ODOT, and a Umatilla Indian Reservation police officer.

The ODOT worker split time with the people in the wreck and us. When we asked what happened to the people in the Explorer, she said they told her the SUV had hit gravel on the side of the road and the driver had overcorrected. It sounded like they were feeling stupid more than anything else, as hard as that was to believe. Certainly whiplash was involved in that kind of crash, along with lacerations and who knew what else. The ODOT worker didn’t offer any details about their condition, and I didn’t ask.

Soon after she left, the police officer arrived. He wondered if we had anything to do with the wreck. I was quick to tell him no, we’d been there at least ten minutes before it happened. After telling him Les Schwab was on their way, he too took off for another run up and around the mountain.

Angela suggested I call Les Scwab again to see how much longer it would be. I hated to do it, knowing they were busy, but after a few moments of reluctance, I made the call. I was told that our guy was out on other emergencies, but we were given his number, so I tried it. The guy answered, and we were told it would be at least another fifteen minutes.

When those minutes passed and the Les Scwab guy still didn’t arrive, Angela voiced her anxiety. She wondered if we could say a prayer. I offered it, asking that we might all be able to feel calm while we waited, and that the Les Schwab guy would arrive soon. Within five minutes after that, he rolled up and parked in front of us.

It took him less than a minute to assess the damage.

“I can’t fix that here,” he said. “I don’t have all the parts.” He then explained why. “The studs are busted.” Not only were the lug nuts gone, but the posts they were attached to were gone. That detail was something I couldn’t see from the angle I had earlier. “You’ll need to get a tow truck.”

I wasn’t happy. Not only did it mean more waiting, and an additional expense, but now whether or not we would be able to get on the road before dark was in question. It was still early yet, but not knowing how quickly things could get fixed put getting to Boise that evening in jeopardy, too.

I tried to be as calm as I could be when I asked, “Can you recommend anyone?”

Without hesitation, the Les Schwab guy said, “Blue Mountain towing. He’s the best.”

With that ringing endorsement, and after telling us how sorry he was to be leaving us there, the Les Schwab guy took off. I got back on the phone and called Blue Mountain towing.

The owner, Chris Clark, answered and said he’d be up to get us in about twenty minutes, after he finished up what he was doing.

I didn’t take much stock in him getting there when he said he would, since we’d already been nearly an hour waiting for the Les Schwab guy. While we were now waiting for the tow truck, another ODOT worker showed up, asked us how we were, and I ran through the story to that point. “That’s kind of funny they couldn’t fix that,” he said, shaking his head, “I worked for Les Schwab and I used to make those kind of roadside repairs all the time.”

Great! I thought.

After a minute or two, the ODOT worker took off, but as he did, he set up cones in the road which would make drivers coming up the mountain move over into the other lane. To that point, it was the most helpful thing anyone had done for us. Now we didn’t have to worry about being rocked off our bad wheel every time a car flew by.

Shortly after that, as I watched in the rearview mirror, I saw a tow truck arrive. It wasn’t ours, however, but for the Explorer behind us. I kept that little fact to myself so as to not upset the group further, but I was less than charitable in my own thinking. I did actually get around to chiding myself for assuming the fix would be so simple and not calling for a tow truck in the first place. We would have been at the shop by now.

Twenty minutes came and went, and still no tow guy. So, once again, Angela wanted to say a prayer. I said, “Go ahead.” She apparently took it to mean she should do it in silence, since I didn’t hear her say anything after that. It was less than a minute after she had asked to do it when I saw the tow truck coming. “That’s a good prayer,” I said, “because he’s here.”

It still took the better part of fifteen minutes to get the Durango loaded on the back of the tow truck, but just the fact that we would be leaving soon, even if we would be going back the way we came, rose the spirits of the group. What’s more, the tow truck guy, Chris, was extremely careful. Soon, all five of us were packed into his truck, enjoying the heater, and listening as he regaled us with his life story, and his many rescues on the mountain.

TO BE CONTINUED

Bound for Rexburg—Part III

Now, the Durango was shaking. The first thing that came to my mind was, the road must be rough here, in spite of the fact there was no visual evidence to support it. But at the time, I was thinking we had just slipped on ice, and thus a rough road due to constant sanding was not that much of a leap. Even if the road looked the same as it had the last few hundred miles.

“It feels like a flat tire,” Evan said.

That conclusion changed everything. I hesitated momentarily, weighing the possibility, then guided us over to the side of the road. Thankfully, it was wide enough to do so and allow for some room on the driver side to get out. It was plenty cold as I stepped down and took a look. For a moment, I felt a flash of relief—none of the tires were flat. But as often is the case, Angela was the one who made the discovery.

“Look at that.”

She pointed at the right rear wheel. From the back, you could tell that it sat askew. Instead of perpendicular to the road, the top of it was leaning outward. I glanced back to see if any cars were coming and then came around to look at it. I didn’t make it completely in front of the wheel, but from the angle I had, I could see three of the five lug nuts were missing.

What in the world? Lug nuts don’t just fling themselves off, I knew, so what had happened to them? I didn’t have a chance to inspect the wheel thoroughly, though, as I could hear some cars approaching and quickly moved back to the shoulder.

“What are we going to do?” Angela asked, very concerned.

There was a Les Schwab back in Pendleton. I knew they offered roadside assistance, and figured replacing three lug nuts and tightening up the other two would be easy enough, so I told her I’d make a call. As I got back into the Durango, two different vehicles stopped to check on us, one a truck with a long flatbed trailer, and the other a compact SUV. Two men from the truck came running down the hill while a woman got out of the car. By this time, everyone was out of the Durango. While the three motorists spoke with Angela, I got back in and dialed up Les Schwab.

“That’s not good,” the guy from Les Schwab said after I recounted what had happened. No, it’s not, I thought, but kept it to myself. He was after all, just trying to help. And he wasn’t that convinced that replacing lug nuts would fix it. “I’ll get our guy out there as soon as he can.”

I thanked him, then got out to see how the conversation with the thoughtful motorists were going. Apparently, the men from the truck were discussing how they might get our Durango onto their flatbed trailer. The problem was, they just weren’t equipped to get an SUV on to the back of it which probably shouldn’t be driven any more.

I told them I had spoken with Les Schwab, that they were sending a truck out, and told them I appreciated the thought. One of them said, “We can’t help, let’s go,” and they ran back up the hill. At the same time, the woman, who hadn’t spoken while I was there said goodbye, wished us luck, and took off, too. We all said thank you for the fact that they stopped, and then the five of us got back into the Durango.

“How long?” Angela asked, after I’d told them someone was coming.

“He didn’t say. I’d guess at least 20 minutes. And that’s if he’s not out on another call.”

She didn’t look happy with that response, but what could either of us do about it? The situation was not in our control. We would be dependent on others to help us, and we were on their timetable.

We sat in the car, waiting. The conversation was scattered, but primarily focused on our situation. Some of it was not helpful, but it was more out of stress and nervousness. We didn’t know what was going on, we didn’t truly know if it could be easily fixed, and the thought of being stuck out here for much longer wore on everyone.

Not more than 10 minutes had passed. I was looking into the driver side mirror for signs of the repair truck. Cars and semi-trucks passed us periodically, those ascending in the fast lane shaking our vehicle as they went by. That didn’t help the nerves any. An older model maroon colored Ford Explorer appeared around the corner. As it did, it seemed to glide from one side of the road to the other, hitting the guard rail full speed and then exectuted some bizarre maneuver that lifted it up off the ground as it struck. Then, it returned across both lanes again and ended up on the shoulder, facing the mountain side.

The whole thing took less than three seconds, was impossibly surreal, and I sat there dumbfounded.

I knew I shouldn’t say it, because I knew it wouldn’t help the mood of our group any, but the words tumbled out, “I can’t believe this! Someone just crashed behind us!”

As predicted, it caused a couple of people to panic, thinking the car in question was near us, rather than a couple hundred yards down the hill. As they were reacting to that, I finally realized someone should go and see if the people in the Explorer were okay. I was about to open the door, when I saw a truck of some kind pull off the road and the driver got out. Thankful there was someone else, I sat there, looking in the mirror, listening to what my family was saying.

“I think they’re all right,” I replied to a question about the well being of the other people. “Someone’s there to help. Let’s just knock it off. We’re okay, and it’s going to work out.”

I didn’t know for sure that it would. One thing I did know. I didn’t want to be stuck out here any longer.

TO BE CONTINUED

Bound for Rexburg—Part II

Typically, when we go on a long trip, I drive most of it. This, despite the fact that all four of us are licensed to drive. The habit formed when the boys were younger, and has just naturally carried into their adulthood. Angela doesn’t like to drive on the freeways, or in places she doesn’t know, and if one of our sons drives, well, let’s just say there’s a lot of backseat driving going on. Not by me. At any rate, it’s just been the easiest thing to do.

This time, however, the only purpose for the trip was to get Trevor and Ana to Rexburg. I felt he should take ownership of the trip and drive the lion’s share up. There was a stretch of road, called the Blue Mountains, that wound up and then down east of Pendleton, with more curves than usual all the way to Baker City. I would take over driving that part, in the event we met some weather conditions that Trevor wasn’t used to driving in. No need to put ourselves into undue danger just because I felt he should be responsible for getting us there.

The morning dawned cold, but bright. There weren’t any clouds in the sky as we made our way along I-5 from home. At Portland, we crossed over to the I-84, the longest leg of our journey, as it would take us well into Idaho. Before reaching Pendleton and the Blue Mountains, however, we would have to drive through the Columbia Gorge.

During the winters here, we stay pretty close to home. We have headed to Southern California for Christmas, but normally the summits and passes into California are well maintained, and we’ve had good luck missing storms. To my recollection, however, this was the first time we would be traveling east into areas where the temperatures are colder and where snow can fall at any moment.

It wasn’t too far out of Portland that the skies clouded up. Fortunately, these clouds weren’t laden with moisture, but it did darken the way a little, and it dropped the temperatures. In the reports about the road conditions, I read that there were some icy spots reported around Cascade Locks, but as we passed each successive town, we found the roads to be dry. Still, between the frozen waterfalls plastered to the side of the rock walls to the south, and the gusts of wind which would rock the Durango as we hurtled through the Gorge, the reminder of just how treacherous the road could be was never ever far from our minds.

We kept things as light as possible, however. Even correcting Trevor’s driving was kept to a minimum. We did make one unscheduled stop at a rest area, because the girls had to go, which everyone but me took advantage of. Other than that, we made good time, and rolled into Pendleton during the lunch hour.

The idea was to refuel, find something to eat, and then be on our way. I definitely wanted to get through the Blue Mountains in the daylight. From what I could remember from our travels through them in the past, the downhill was where one needed to be the most careful, especially on the return trip. There had been one particular journey made, over 25 years earlier, where three of us (thankfully, I wasn’t driving) had transversed the Blue Mountains in the dead of night during snowfall. Aside from our own headlights, which did not penetrate very far, we had the taillights of a couple semi-trucks which we could see as they rumbled past us. That is, before the snow they kicked up reached blizzard conditions and we could no longer see anything past the windshield.

How we got home in one piece, I’ll never know, but Divine Providence was definitely at work that night. Just as it had started out with this trip, thanks to the good weather and time we were having.

After filling the tank, we settled on Subway. The restaurant was not very full, so we worked quickly through the line, made our orders, and sat down to eat. Everyone was hungry, apparently, as we made quick work of our sandwiches. With the food devoured and the table tidied up, we headed back to the SUV and I took the helm.

The foray into the Blue Mountains is about ten miles out of Pendleton proper. It seemed like less, probably because I wasn’t looking forward to the ascent. The previous weekend, a tour bus had gone over a cliff, killing most of the people on board, and we would be going right past where it left the road. Of course, the weather conditions were different then, but the weather was known to change from the foothills into the higher elevation.

We’d made it up the first switchback and were headed into the second curve when the back of the Durango slipped. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to catch the attention of the entire group. I corrected, kept us in our lane, thinking we’d hit a patch of ice. I slowed down, but as I did, it became apparent that something else was responsible for our sudden predicament.

TO BE CONTINUED

Bound For Rexburg—Part II

Typically, when we go on a long trip, I drive most of it. This, despite the fact that all four of us are licensed to drive. The habit formed when the boys were younger, and has just naturally carried into their adulthood. Angela doesn’t like to drive on the freeways, or in places she doesn’t know, and if one of our sons drives, well, let’s just say there’s a lot of backseat driving going on. Not by me. At any rate, it’s just been the easiest thing to do.

This time, however, the only purpose for the trip was to get Trevor and Ana to Rexburg. I felt he should take ownership of the trip and drive the lion’s share up. There was a stretch of road, called the Blue Mountains, that wound up and then down east of Pendleton, with more curves than usual all the way to Baker City. I would take over driving that part, in the event we met some weather conditions that Trevor wasn’t used to driving in. No need to put ourselves into undue danger just because I felt he should be responsible for getting us there.

The morning dawned cold, but bright. There weren’t any clouds in the sky as we made our way along I-5 from home. At Portland, we crossed over to the I-84, the longest leg of our journey, as it would take us well into Idaho. Before reaching Pendleton and the Blue Mountains, however, we would have to drive through the Columbia Gorge.

During the winters here, we stay pretty close to home. We have headed to Southern California for Christmas, but normally the summits and passes into California are well maintained, and we’ve had good luck missing storms. To my recollection, however, this was the first time we would be traveling east into areas where the temperatures are colder and where snow can fall at any moment.

It wasn’t too far out of Portland that the skies clouded up. Fortunately, these clouds weren’t laden with moisture, but it did darken the way a little, and it dropped the temperatures. In the reports about the road conditions, I read that there were some icy spots reported around Cascade Locks, but as we passed each successive town, we found the roads to be dry. Still, between the frozen waterfalls plastered to the side of the rock walls to the south, and the gusts of wind which would rock the Durango as we hurtled through the Gorge, the reminder of just how treacherous the road could be was never ever far from our minds.

We kept things as light as possible, however. Even correcting Trevor’s driving was kept to a minimum. We did make one unscheduled stop at a rest area, because the girls had to go, which everyone but me took advantage of. Other than that, we made good time, and rolled into Pendleton during the lunch hour.

The idea was to refuel, find something to eat, and then be on your way. I definitely wanted to get through the Blue Mountains in the daylight. From what I could remember from our travels through them in the past, the downhill was where one needed to be the most careful, particularly on the return trip. There had been one particular journey made, over 25 years earlier, where three of us (thankfully, I wasn’t driving) had transversed the Blue Mountains in the dead of night during snowfall. Aside from our own headlights, which did not penetrate very far, we had the taillights of a couple semi-trucks which we could see as they rumbled past us. That is, before the snow they kicked up reached blizzard conditions and we could not longer see anything past the windshield.

How we got home in one piece, I’ll never know, but Divine Providence was definitely at work that night. Just as it had started out with this trip, thanks to the good weather and time we were having.

After filling the tank, we settled on Subway. The restaurant was not very full, so we worked quickly through the line, made our orders, and sat down to eat. Everyone was hungry, apparently, as we made quick work of our sandwiches. With the food devoured and the table tidied up, we headed back to the SUV, and I took the helm.

The foray into the Blue Mountains is about ten miles out of Pendleton proper. It seemed like less, probably because I wasn’t looking forward to the ascent. The previous weekend, a tour bus had gone over a cliff, killing most of the people on board, and we would be going right past where it left the road. Of course, the weather conditions were different, but even that was known to change from the foothills into the higher elevation.

We’d made it up the first switchback and were headed into the second curve when the back of the Durango slipped. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to catch the attention of the entire group. I corrected, kept us in our lane, thinking we’d hit a patch of ice. I slowed down, but as I did, it became apparent that something else was responsible for our sudden predicament.

TO BE CONTINUED

Bound for Rexburg—Part I

It was the first few days of January. The Christmas and New Year’s vacation break was nearly over, and it was almost time for classes to begin.

Our eldest son, Trevor, had been admitted to BYU-Idaho, a four-year university which more or less dominates the town of Rexburg, Idaho. Situated not too far from the Wyoming border, in the far east corner of the state, there’s not much of a reason to go there other than for school. Vacation destinations such as the national parks of the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone are fairly close to there, however.

Some of us had traveled to Rexburg previously while attending a family reunion held in nearby Idaho Falls. That was during the summer, with blue skies and temperatures into the mid-90s. I’d personally been through at least a part of Idaho on several occasions, but neither myself or any member of our immediate family had ever been to Rexburg in the wintertime.

My parents, sister, and several friends of the family, had. All, upon hearing we would be venturing to Rexburg in early January, were none too short on advice, ranging from getting tire chains for our vehicle, to layering tips for staying warm, to horror stories usually involving wind and snow.

I’m not sure how much of all of this Trevor took in (ah, to be 20-something again and blissfully unaware of one’s mortality), but my wife, Angela, and thus, me (albeit to a lesser extent) were keenly aware that driving to Idaho could be a hazardous undertaking. I’ve never purchased tire chains in my life, but because of her insistence, for this trip, I did.

We would be driving our 2006 Dodge Durango, a mid-sized SUV, with all wheel drive. It would be loaded down with Trevor’s stuff and five human beings. While we still needed to be careful, and while we wouldn’t be able to handle five-foot snow drifts (nor two-foot ones, for that matter), we were taking every reasonable precaution.

Which included a decent amount of praying, too. Typically with any trip of a major distance, we will ask for protection from all kinds of danger, starting a day or so before we go, and following up the day of. I can only say it’s worked, since every time I can think of, we’ve made it safely to our destination. In this case, for our trip to Rexburg, the praying for safe roads, good weather, careful fellow drivers and that our Durango would perform properly had all begun at least a week out.

I believe it had the desired effect, weather-wise, anyway. For the few days leading up to our trip, a weather event called an inversion had settled over southern Idaho, dropping the temperatures more than what was already normally cold, into the teens and single digits in some places. Lows would actually go negative. But that meant no new precipitation, and for as far as I could tell from online cameras and state road updates, normal, dry pavement. Whether it would hold to the latter part of the week and into the weekend, was yet to be seen.

Our objective was to drive as much as possible during the day, hole up in Boise at a hotel on the way up, drop off Trevor and his fiancée, Ana, in Rexburg, then get back to Boise to spend the night before making the final trek home. For the first leg of our journey, that specifically meant leaving no later than eight thirty in the morning, to arrive in the four o’clock hour in Boise.

Leaving on time is no small task for us. Almost without exception, we will leave later than desired. I won’t name names, but the culprits are generally the same every time. However, somehow, we actually rolled out of our driveway on schedule, with Trevor at the wheel.

TO BE CONTINUED