I was up early on a recent Sunday morning to take a long walk before beginning my work which would keep me at the computer most of the day,
but because it was such a beautiful day a change of plans was in order. I called Nick and Cathy up Badolato Superiore. “Ciao Nick! sono io,
Martino. What would you say to a short road trip?” “I’ve got a few small chores” replied Nick “Then, really nothing, what exactly did you have in
mind?” “How about a drive up into the mountains? I know a place above Tiriolo, where we can see both the Ionian and Tyranian seas at the
same time.. and if it stays this clear, we should be able to see the island of Stromboli. How about it?” “Sounds like a plan. Cathy and I will be
down in forty minutes or thereabouts.. Ciao!”
While waiting for my friends to arrive, I mapped out the route we would take. It would get us off of the 106 which hugs the coast from Reggio past
Catanzaro and up to Taranto.. and instead take us inland, up to the hill-top towns of Gasperina and Montauro, then down through the valley
west of Squillace towards Maida then up north across the E 848 and up to Tiriolo, an ancient town said to have had a strategic position
overlooking the Lamato river valley between Catanzaro lido and Lamezia since the time of Odysseus. I am fascinated by the history of this place
and just being here where so much of the ancient past has unfolded keeps up my interest in exploring whenever I can.
As planned, the trio met at my place. We loaded some fruit and a pair of binoculars into the car, and in a few minutes we were on their way. We
drove out of town headed north only as far as the Montepaone exit, turned west and headed up the mountain to Gasperina where after 15
minutes of climbing the mountain, one switchback after another, we stopped in the parking area of a Sanitarium, church and local cemetery.
The Sanitarium had a commanding view of the sea and lands below. “This place once belonged to the Cistercian monks from Serra San Bruno,
some 30 kilometers deeper in the interior” “The Normans built the fortifications for the monastery, and the Cistercians supposedly had
something to do with the Crusades and the Templars, maybe even the holy grail” I told my friends.
The vista was breathtaking. Neither Nick nor Cathy had been up here, although they had seen this spot a hundred times from down below while
beating up and down the 106 on the way to Soverato, or Catanzaro for a million different reasons. On this, the last day of November, the
weather was perfect. The previous few days of rain and wind had washed everything as clean as new, and turned the already green landscape
into a carpet of luxurious bright green quilt, dotted by dark green olive trees and lighter terracotta tile roofs. The air was clear and calm. We
could see the coast extending in either direction for miles, and the fingers of the mountain ridges as they descended from the highlands towards
the coast. Each succeeding ridge was shaded a deeper blue as they receded into the distance, until the furthest, along the horizon was a sliver
of grey against the incredible brilliant blue sky.
Nearby, a group of patients sat quietly enjoying the warm sun, watching the three of us as we chatted about the excellent weather and their bird’
s eye view of the villages below them. Cathy approached them, and exchanged greetings telling them that we too lived here, and no, we weren’t
on vacation, just out enjoying the day. Nick and I were gazing down on the village and groves below and chatting quietly. From this vantage
point everything seemed ordered… the olive trees were aligned with great precision, and the houses and buildings along the road were laid out
neatly, as if by a master planner… not at all the way they appeared from the surface as one snaked down the crowded and often dangerous
cento sei..
Returning to the car, I pointed out a large ruin down below us in the direction we were headed. “That was la Grange. It was built to store grain
for the crusades.. It was the largest building of it’s kind in Europe at the time.. Let’s save that for another day.. Reaching it takes a pretty good
hike after we leave the road”.. We stayed to enjoy the view and chat a little longer than I had planned. I knew we would spend time at Montauro
too before going on to Tiriolo. I wanted to show them a church I was researching for a book.. “It turns out the church too had ties to the
Templar knights long ago, and only recently has this fascinating story been unfolding partially through the efforts of a friend of mine, Giuseppe
Pisano. Only a few kilometers of mountain road separated the two towns and in 15 minutes we parked and walked to the church in Montauro.
Mass was being said, but without hesitation we joined several people who stood in the very back of the only half-full church …as if they wanted
to be the first one’s out in case of an earthquake.. After a few minutes of looking around at the church alters and aisles for some of the many
signs of the Templars said to be there and before the communion, we exited the church. Standing on the steps immediately in front of the
doorway, I drew their attention to an inscription in stone above the door: “Terribilis est locus iste…” (This place is terrible) “A significant marker
of the Templars and the same inscription as their main church, at Rennes Chateau in France. “ I said. We walked around to the piazza on the
east side, which boasts a medieval fountain and several huge palm trees. It also has an overlook, out over the tops of tile roofed houses that
are perched just below the church and along the road leading down the steep mountain side. I was speaking animatedly about the stories I had
heard, linking the church to the ancient nearby village of Roccelletta, the crusades, and the Templars.. “All this history and intrigue just next
door!” …When I was interrupted by a man of about seventy, who with two others was standing along the railing..
“I heard you speaking English... Where are you from?” This was a familiar scene.. often acted when English is overheard around here. It is
cause for a discussion. The six individuals exchanged handshakes and introductions. A well dressed Italian in his seventies remarked “I was 50
years in America, in Toronto. It is a beautiful place, but I came back here... Here, it is different. They have everything here, but nothing. It is
beautiful, but no work. The mothers give their sons 50 Euros to spend from their small pensions. But there isn’t much to do… except maybe
pick olives.. Not like in the states.” “Eh.. they have their own problems in the states” said Nick. Things are tough there too” “The economic crisis
is taking a toll on everybody”. With that, I spoke up.. “Which reminds me.. I was walking near my village the other day along a road that had an
orange grove running alongside of it.. The trees were full of huge over-ripe oranges. Sadly, they were not being picked and instead were just
falling to the ground and going to waste.. I was reminded of when I was just a kid at Catholic school. Then nuns would collect our dimes and
say.. “The children in Europe are starving, and we can help feed them with these dimes… and I thought to myself, “There are so many poor
people in the states today that would love to eat these oranges.. I wish I could send them these…” At that, their new friend from Toronto burst
out laughing while translating the story for his friends… Time to move on I thought. “We must run. Dobbiamo andare.. Nice to meet you..
Piacere, ciao, ciao!” and we walked back to our car for the next leg of their trip.
The day warmed under the bright sun as we descended the mountains behind the ridge of Montauro, and down into the valley to the west of
Staletti and Squillace. The valley was picturesque, with farms draped around hillsides, contour lines adding brush strokes to a picture
impossible to capture on canvas… What a Paradiso! The tranquil valley spread out beneath us as we drove easily, windows open to the warm
air while enjoying our day in the sun. “ I wanted to buy a sports car for Italy and drive with the top down on days like this, but we bought this
Renault instead, with room for five and luggage. I feel like Geppetto, swallowed by a huge blue whale in this car!” “ But it is perfect for a day
like this said Nick.. Big and roomy with huge windows.. very comfortable!”
“Let’s detour to Borgia” said Nick. “There is a beautiful mediaeval Cathedral there that I would like to see.” We pulled into Borgia around noon,
drove to the city center and parked behind the cathedral. A Christmas fair was just beginning in the piazza del duomo. Several booths erected
for the occasion were selling toys, clothes, decorations and other homemade items for Christmas. “How about a coffee?” Cathy asked. “I could
go for a snack too” I said. With that we entered a bar just off the square and ordered two espressos and a cappuccino for Cathy. We were in no
hurry, and the time passed pleasantly as Nick and I discussed architectural features of the antique buildings and Cathy spoke to a few of the
locals. It was an hour later before we left, to drive the lovely valley roads again.
We reached Tiriolo around two, after crossing the river and winding our way up the mountainside. The town is perched high above the valley
and with its narrow serpentine streets appears to be very ancient indeed. I drove through the central area of the town but before leaving it
entirely I took a turn off onto a road sandwiched between the mountain and the main highway. Compared to the climb of the past 20 minutes,
this road seemed to go straight up! In just a few hundred meters, the road switched back on itself and continued the ascent steeply. “The
lookout point is another 500 meters above us” and this should take us to the top.,” I said with a hint of nervousness in my voice. “But this is only
a single lane path not much wider than the car! thought Nick, now looking intently at the drop off immediately to his right. I had shifted down
into first gear, and was accelerating through the second hairpin curve, giving the car plenty of gas to keep the forward momentum. Cathy sat in
silence, but was afraid. She had seen the circular “do not enter” road sign that I past while focusing on this sliver of road pasted to the side of
this mountain. At this point the car was clawing itself up the steep grade, but not without incident. The storms of the last days had littered the
road with pine branches, pine cones and needles. The front tires slipped on the combination of pavement wet from being on the cool shade
side of the mountain and the new windfall debris from the trees. After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the next hairpin curve, but
rather than attempt another sharp turn, I pulled the car off the road onto a patch of level ground not much bigger than the footprint of the car
itself and announced this would be the end of the line. “Last time I was here the road was dry and clear. It gets more difficult from here on, and
I don’t want to chance a problem even higher where there is no room to stop or turn around…” “After this point, the options are to keep going up
the steep inclines, make the tight curves in 1st, and keep the engine running, or.. God forbid- fall off of the mountain…” There were no
guardrails. Only the occasional pine tree stood to stop the falling car if it were to tumble from the mountain.
Glad to be out of the car, we hiked towards the top of the mountain. Climbing the next 350 meters took almost an hour. The roadway was steep
and we soon tired, requiring frequent stops to rest and admire the wild flowers and the views, partially obstructed by the tall pines that somehow
held on to the side of the mountain face. “This entire mountain has been terraced,” I remarked as I strained to look up to their destination.”
Who could have done this and why? The terraces are narrow, and there doesn’t appear to be any type of crops.” “They were probably made to
traverse the mountain even before this path was here” said Nick.. It must have taken years to complete.”
We reached the summit around 3:00 PM. proud of our accomplishment, but disappointed too. It did offer beautiful views into the valleys to the
east and into the Sila mountain range. Cathy and Nick perched themselves on the highest point of an outcropping of rock and I took their
picture. There were none of the usual jokes about “back up”, or “move to the left”. There was no room for a misstep at this point. Only several
hundred feet of sheer fall and terror before hitting the valley floor… Unfortunately, it was too late to see the view we had come all this way for.
While we could see the town of Tiriolo far below us clearly, the setting sun had created a haze, and as we looked west towards the Tyranian
coast, the horizon was imperceptible. We would have to return another day. “No need to linger here said Nick.” We seemed to be thinking in
unison. “Let’s start down!”. “Ok, by me.” I wanted to be off this mountain before sunset. The slips on the way up concerned me, and I was
already thinking of the steep slope down and the two tight hairpin turns!
The walk down to the car was relaxed and offered some relief to our earlier sense of anxiousness. For one thing, two cars passed us heading
up the mountain. This made me feel better about taking them as far up as I had and the others about getting back in the car for the ride down.
“If they can do it so can we.” Then we were distracted about half way to the car when we stopped and chatted for a few minutes with a man who
was walking up the mountain with his young son. “I have walked this path every Sunday for years” remarked the man. His son looked on
attentively as his dad spoke to us foreigners about the beauty of the place.. “It is beautiful today, but just wait until it snows! It will be even
incredible” “…but very dangerous!” Remarked the man, forcing thoughts of the drive down as we parted company.
Upon arriving at the car, we stood along side of it for a few minutes surveying the spot to determine how best to back it into the steep curve and
back again around the tight corner. It was perched too high up on the turn to back out without scraping the undercarriage hard. It would have to
be positioned a little lower on the curve but without backing down the mountain to make the swing back up onto the turn. I started the car and
opened the windows so as to hear the others give their instructions. Cathy stood in the front and Nick in the back. Gingerly, I moved the car
forward just a few inches before Cathy yelled, “stop!” to keep the front wheels out of a deep rut just in front. With the wheel turned fully to the
left, I backed up less than a foot, and turned the wheels again to the right, moving forward to the edge of the drop-off again. After a few more
small adjustments, Nick yelled. “You can make it now. Crank the wheel to the left and back her up.” As I released the clutch, I felt my pulse race
along with the engine as I stepped on the gas pedal. The car responded easily, quietly swinging around to the right as the road climbed to the
left, causing it to sit awkwardly on the steepest part of the hairpin turn. I then eased the car around the curve to allow my passengers easy
entry. They climbed in and immediately fastened their seat belts.
The car was now heading down hill and we could hear the brakes straining to hold it back. As I released them, the car began its descent. Even
with constant braking, we could feel the power of gravity pulling the car and us down the steep decline. Our hearts were beating fast, and
strangely, we were intensely silent. Cathy, who was now on the outside edge strained to lean forward and watch the road in front of us, nervous
about the pine cones and needles we would encounter. Nick leaned to the right side of the car instinctively as if riding a motorcycle and wanting
desperately to keep the weight of the car to the mountainside. I too, watched the road intently, trying to avoid anything that would cause the car
to slide, but dodging the piles of cones and needles on this narrow band of road was impossible. My worst fears were coming true. I could feel
the tires slip as they encountered the piles of pine needles that now were damp and acting like small ball bearings beneath the tires. We had
made it only half way to the first hairpin curve, and the car was picking up speed! Applying the brakes now caused it to skid and gain speed,
while releasing them allowed gravity to pull the car even faster. We each knew that any more speed would be fatal. There would be no stopping
the car at the curve, and we would fall off the mountain into the valley several hundred feet below. Cathy gasped and whispered aloud. “Dear
God, save us!” It was then that the right front tire hit the rock. It was covered by pine branches and needles. I had run over the edge of it
missing it on the way up when I first noticed the tires slip. Now, the tire went up on the side of it, the force pushing the rock towards the
mountain, and the car slightly towards the outside edge.
The car lurched only a little to the left, but that was enough. Gravity took over and now it was moving on its own, sliding down and towards the
edge. In only a second or two, the front wheel on the driver’s side slipped off the sliver of concrete, and the car as if in slow motion, followed.
The underside of the car emitted a soft cry as it scrapped along the concrete edge and soon our car, which was now nearly off of the road
began to turn over, at first slowly, like a huge blue whale in the ocean, it turned first on its side, then belly up, then again onto its side. This
series of horrific revolutions continued, ever increasing in speed, until the car smashed against the pavement below.
“No, Not really.” “The ride down was a bit scary, but nothing like I said.. Now go to sleep”..
Marty
Ciao!
©copyright 2009 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
but because it was such a beautiful day a change of plans was in order. I called Nick and Cathy up Badolato Superiore. “Ciao Nick! sono io,
Martino. What would you say to a short road trip?” “I’ve got a few small chores” replied Nick “Then, really nothing, what exactly did you have in
mind?” “How about a drive up into the mountains? I know a place above Tiriolo, where we can see both the Ionian and Tyranian seas at the
same time.. and if it stays this clear, we should be able to see the island of Stromboli. How about it?” “Sounds like a plan. Cathy and I will be
down in forty minutes or thereabouts.. Ciao!”
While waiting for my friends to arrive, I mapped out the route we would take. It would get us off of the 106 which hugs the coast from Reggio past
Catanzaro and up to Taranto.. and instead take us inland, up to the hill-top towns of Gasperina and Montauro, then down through the valley
west of Squillace towards Maida then up north across the E 848 and up to Tiriolo, an ancient town said to have had a strategic position
overlooking the Lamato river valley between Catanzaro lido and Lamezia since the time of Odysseus. I am fascinated by the history of this place
and just being here where so much of the ancient past has unfolded keeps up my interest in exploring whenever I can.
As planned, the trio met at my place. We loaded some fruit and a pair of binoculars into the car, and in a few minutes we were on their way. We
drove out of town headed north only as far as the Montepaone exit, turned west and headed up the mountain to Gasperina where after 15
minutes of climbing the mountain, one switchback after another, we stopped in the parking area of a Sanitarium, church and local cemetery.
The Sanitarium had a commanding view of the sea and lands below. “This place once belonged to the Cistercian monks from Serra San Bruno,
some 30 kilometers deeper in the interior” “The Normans built the fortifications for the monastery, and the Cistercians supposedly had
something to do with the Crusades and the Templars, maybe even the holy grail” I told my friends.
The vista was breathtaking. Neither Nick nor Cathy had been up here, although they had seen this spot a hundred times from down below while
beating up and down the 106 on the way to Soverato, or Catanzaro for a million different reasons. On this, the last day of November, the
weather was perfect. The previous few days of rain and wind had washed everything as clean as new, and turned the already green landscape
into a carpet of luxurious bright green quilt, dotted by dark green olive trees and lighter terracotta tile roofs. The air was clear and calm. We
could see the coast extending in either direction for miles, and the fingers of the mountain ridges as they descended from the highlands towards
the coast. Each succeeding ridge was shaded a deeper blue as they receded into the distance, until the furthest, along the horizon was a sliver
of grey against the incredible brilliant blue sky.
Nearby, a group of patients sat quietly enjoying the warm sun, watching the three of us as we chatted about the excellent weather and their bird’
s eye view of the villages below them. Cathy approached them, and exchanged greetings telling them that we too lived here, and no, we weren’t
on vacation, just out enjoying the day. Nick and I were gazing down on the village and groves below and chatting quietly. From this vantage
point everything seemed ordered… the olive trees were aligned with great precision, and the houses and buildings along the road were laid out
neatly, as if by a master planner… not at all the way they appeared from the surface as one snaked down the crowded and often dangerous
cento sei..
Returning to the car, I pointed out a large ruin down below us in the direction we were headed. “That was la Grange. It was built to store grain
for the crusades.. It was the largest building of it’s kind in Europe at the time.. Let’s save that for another day.. Reaching it takes a pretty good
hike after we leave the road”.. We stayed to enjoy the view and chat a little longer than I had planned. I knew we would spend time at Montauro
too before going on to Tiriolo. I wanted to show them a church I was researching for a book.. “It turns out the church too had ties to the
Templar knights long ago, and only recently has this fascinating story been unfolding partially through the efforts of a friend of mine, Giuseppe
Pisano. Only a few kilometers of mountain road separated the two towns and in 15 minutes we parked and walked to the church in Montauro.
Mass was being said, but without hesitation we joined several people who stood in the very back of the only half-full church …as if they wanted
to be the first one’s out in case of an earthquake.. After a few minutes of looking around at the church alters and aisles for some of the many
signs of the Templars said to be there and before the communion, we exited the church. Standing on the steps immediately in front of the
doorway, I drew their attention to an inscription in stone above the door: “Terribilis est locus iste…” (This place is terrible) “A significant marker
of the Templars and the same inscription as their main church, at Rennes Chateau in France. “ I said. We walked around to the piazza on the
east side, which boasts a medieval fountain and several huge palm trees. It also has an overlook, out over the tops of tile roofed houses that
are perched just below the church and along the road leading down the steep mountain side. I was speaking animatedly about the stories I had
heard, linking the church to the ancient nearby village of Roccelletta, the crusades, and the Templars.. “All this history and intrigue just next
door!” …When I was interrupted by a man of about seventy, who with two others was standing along the railing..
“I heard you speaking English... Where are you from?” This was a familiar scene.. often acted when English is overheard around here. It is
cause for a discussion. The six individuals exchanged handshakes and introductions. A well dressed Italian in his seventies remarked “I was 50
years in America, in Toronto. It is a beautiful place, but I came back here... Here, it is different. They have everything here, but nothing. It is
beautiful, but no work. The mothers give their sons 50 Euros to spend from their small pensions. But there isn’t much to do… except maybe
pick olives.. Not like in the states.” “Eh.. they have their own problems in the states” said Nick. Things are tough there too” “The economic crisis
is taking a toll on everybody”. With that, I spoke up.. “Which reminds me.. I was walking near my village the other day along a road that had an
orange grove running alongside of it.. The trees were full of huge over-ripe oranges. Sadly, they were not being picked and instead were just
falling to the ground and going to waste.. I was reminded of when I was just a kid at Catholic school. Then nuns would collect our dimes and
say.. “The children in Europe are starving, and we can help feed them with these dimes… and I thought to myself, “There are so many poor
people in the states today that would love to eat these oranges.. I wish I could send them these…” At that, their new friend from Toronto burst
out laughing while translating the story for his friends… Time to move on I thought. “We must run. Dobbiamo andare.. Nice to meet you..
Piacere, ciao, ciao!” and we walked back to our car for the next leg of their trip.
The day warmed under the bright sun as we descended the mountains behind the ridge of Montauro, and down into the valley to the west of
Staletti and Squillace. The valley was picturesque, with farms draped around hillsides, contour lines adding brush strokes to a picture
impossible to capture on canvas… What a Paradiso! The tranquil valley spread out beneath us as we drove easily, windows open to the warm
air while enjoying our day in the sun. “ I wanted to buy a sports car for Italy and drive with the top down on days like this, but we bought this
Renault instead, with room for five and luggage. I feel like Geppetto, swallowed by a huge blue whale in this car!” “ But it is perfect for a day
like this said Nick.. Big and roomy with huge windows.. very comfortable!”
“Let’s detour to Borgia” said Nick. “There is a beautiful mediaeval Cathedral there that I would like to see.” We pulled into Borgia around noon,
drove to the city center and parked behind the cathedral. A Christmas fair was just beginning in the piazza del duomo. Several booths erected
for the occasion were selling toys, clothes, decorations and other homemade items for Christmas. “How about a coffee?” Cathy asked. “I could
go for a snack too” I said. With that we entered a bar just off the square and ordered two espressos and a cappuccino for Cathy. We were in no
hurry, and the time passed pleasantly as Nick and I discussed architectural features of the antique buildings and Cathy spoke to a few of the
locals. It was an hour later before we left, to drive the lovely valley roads again.
We reached Tiriolo around two, after crossing the river and winding our way up the mountainside. The town is perched high above the valley
and with its narrow serpentine streets appears to be very ancient indeed. I drove through the central area of the town but before leaving it
entirely I took a turn off onto a road sandwiched between the mountain and the main highway. Compared to the climb of the past 20 minutes,
this road seemed to go straight up! In just a few hundred meters, the road switched back on itself and continued the ascent steeply. “The
lookout point is another 500 meters above us” and this should take us to the top.,” I said with a hint of nervousness in my voice. “But this is only
a single lane path not much wider than the car! thought Nick, now looking intently at the drop off immediately to his right. I had shifted down
into first gear, and was accelerating through the second hairpin curve, giving the car plenty of gas to keep the forward momentum. Cathy sat in
silence, but was afraid. She had seen the circular “do not enter” road sign that I past while focusing on this sliver of road pasted to the side of
this mountain. At this point the car was clawing itself up the steep grade, but not without incident. The storms of the last days had littered the
road with pine branches, pine cones and needles. The front tires slipped on the combination of pavement wet from being on the cool shade
side of the mountain and the new windfall debris from the trees. After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the next hairpin curve, but
rather than attempt another sharp turn, I pulled the car off the road onto a patch of level ground not much bigger than the footprint of the car
itself and announced this would be the end of the line. “Last time I was here the road was dry and clear. It gets more difficult from here on, and
I don’t want to chance a problem even higher where there is no room to stop or turn around…” “After this point, the options are to keep going up
the steep inclines, make the tight curves in 1st, and keep the engine running, or.. God forbid- fall off of the mountain…” There were no
guardrails. Only the occasional pine tree stood to stop the falling car if it were to tumble from the mountain.
Glad to be out of the car, we hiked towards the top of the mountain. Climbing the next 350 meters took almost an hour. The roadway was steep
and we soon tired, requiring frequent stops to rest and admire the wild flowers and the views, partially obstructed by the tall pines that somehow
held on to the side of the mountain face. “This entire mountain has been terraced,” I remarked as I strained to look up to their destination.”
Who could have done this and why? The terraces are narrow, and there doesn’t appear to be any type of crops.” “They were probably made to
traverse the mountain even before this path was here” said Nick.. It must have taken years to complete.”
We reached the summit around 3:00 PM. proud of our accomplishment, but disappointed too. It did offer beautiful views into the valleys to the
east and into the Sila mountain range. Cathy and Nick perched themselves on the highest point of an outcropping of rock and I took their
picture. There were none of the usual jokes about “back up”, or “move to the left”. There was no room for a misstep at this point. Only several
hundred feet of sheer fall and terror before hitting the valley floor… Unfortunately, it was too late to see the view we had come all this way for.
While we could see the town of Tiriolo far below us clearly, the setting sun had created a haze, and as we looked west towards the Tyranian
coast, the horizon was imperceptible. We would have to return another day. “No need to linger here said Nick.” We seemed to be thinking in
unison. “Let’s start down!”. “Ok, by me.” I wanted to be off this mountain before sunset. The slips on the way up concerned me, and I was
already thinking of the steep slope down and the two tight hairpin turns!
The walk down to the car was relaxed and offered some relief to our earlier sense of anxiousness. For one thing, two cars passed us heading
up the mountain. This made me feel better about taking them as far up as I had and the others about getting back in the car for the ride down.
“If they can do it so can we.” Then we were distracted about half way to the car when we stopped and chatted for a few minutes with a man who
was walking up the mountain with his young son. “I have walked this path every Sunday for years” remarked the man. His son looked on
attentively as his dad spoke to us foreigners about the beauty of the place.. “It is beautiful today, but just wait until it snows! It will be even
incredible” “…but very dangerous!” Remarked the man, forcing thoughts of the drive down as we parted company.
Upon arriving at the car, we stood along side of it for a few minutes surveying the spot to determine how best to back it into the steep curve and
back again around the tight corner. It was perched too high up on the turn to back out without scraping the undercarriage hard. It would have to
be positioned a little lower on the curve but without backing down the mountain to make the swing back up onto the turn. I started the car and
opened the windows so as to hear the others give their instructions. Cathy stood in the front and Nick in the back. Gingerly, I moved the car
forward just a few inches before Cathy yelled, “stop!” to keep the front wheels out of a deep rut just in front. With the wheel turned fully to the
left, I backed up less than a foot, and turned the wheels again to the right, moving forward to the edge of the drop-off again. After a few more
small adjustments, Nick yelled. “You can make it now. Crank the wheel to the left and back her up.” As I released the clutch, I felt my pulse race
along with the engine as I stepped on the gas pedal. The car responded easily, quietly swinging around to the right as the road climbed to the
left, causing it to sit awkwardly on the steepest part of the hairpin turn. I then eased the car around the curve to allow my passengers easy
entry. They climbed in and immediately fastened their seat belts.
The car was now heading down hill and we could hear the brakes straining to hold it back. As I released them, the car began its descent. Even
with constant braking, we could feel the power of gravity pulling the car and us down the steep decline. Our hearts were beating fast, and
strangely, we were intensely silent. Cathy, who was now on the outside edge strained to lean forward and watch the road in front of us, nervous
about the pine cones and needles we would encounter. Nick leaned to the right side of the car instinctively as if riding a motorcycle and wanting
desperately to keep the weight of the car to the mountainside. I too, watched the road intently, trying to avoid anything that would cause the car
to slide, but dodging the piles of cones and needles on this narrow band of road was impossible. My worst fears were coming true. I could feel
the tires slip as they encountered the piles of pine needles that now were damp and acting like small ball bearings beneath the tires. We had
made it only half way to the first hairpin curve, and the car was picking up speed! Applying the brakes now caused it to skid and gain speed,
while releasing them allowed gravity to pull the car even faster. We each knew that any more speed would be fatal. There would be no stopping
the car at the curve, and we would fall off the mountain into the valley several hundred feet below. Cathy gasped and whispered aloud. “Dear
God, save us!” It was then that the right front tire hit the rock. It was covered by pine branches and needles. I had run over the edge of it
missing it on the way up when I first noticed the tires slip. Now, the tire went up on the side of it, the force pushing the rock towards the
mountain, and the car slightly towards the outside edge.
The car lurched only a little to the left, but that was enough. Gravity took over and now it was moving on its own, sliding down and towards the
edge. In only a second or two, the front wheel on the driver’s side slipped off the sliver of concrete, and the car as if in slow motion, followed.
The underside of the car emitted a soft cry as it scrapped along the concrete edge and soon our car, which was now nearly off of the road
began to turn over, at first slowly, like a huge blue whale in the ocean, it turned first on its side, then belly up, then again onto its side. This
series of horrific revolutions continued, ever increasing in speed, until the car smashed against the pavement below.
“No, Not really.” “The ride down was a bit scary, but nothing like I said.. Now go to sleep”..
Marty
Ciao!
©copyright 2009 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
The Day Trip
by Marty Sturino
by Marty Sturino
