scrub, in the distance, crowned with black dots. I wish the sun had been up. I wanted to see the country we were
driving through. What I could see was high desert, snow fences and sparse forest. I could see a long ways in the
moonlight, but everything was black and white.
Another sign became visible in the headlights. As we approached, it read, “Highway 120 East/Benton” next right.
Dave yawned and sat up.
The next road sign told me, I was on “Highway 120 north” as well as, “Highway 395”.
“I thought you were asleep,” I said.
“You wish.”
Another road sign gave us the option of turning left onto “Highway120 west/Tioga Pass” or to continue on Highway 395 to the
town of Lee Vining and beyond to Bridgeport.
“John, this is it.”
I turned left off Highway 395, onto Highway 120 west, towards Tioga Pass. We were heading away from Mono lake, into the mountains.
“When are they going to pave this?” I said steering to avoid the potholes.
“It’s been paved,” Dave said.
“Yeah, right,” I said as we bottomed out again. “Last year maybe.”
The road began to climb, narrowing down to one lane, a precipice on our left, the mountainside on our right. Our
forward motion created a cloud of dust that disappeared behind us. On the other side of the valley stood mountains,
distant shapes of gray with dark swaths of forest and vertical walls rising to snow capped summits shimmering in the moonlight.
“Hey John, let me drive” Dave said. “Its not real busy, just stop. Don’t bother pulling over.”
I let off the gas glad to let Dave steer around the potholes, the Haywagon came to a stop in a swirl of dust. I pushed in the
Park button. The parking brake pedal was already to the floor. The handle had no effect.
“What’s wrong with the parking brake?”
“Oh, yeah. Hold the car while I get a rock.”
Dave climbed out and went to the mountain side of the road.
“A couple weeks ago,” he was bent over by the right tire. “The parking brake pedal stayed on the floor. I messed
with the cable, but it still doesn’t work.”
He straightened up, wiped his hands on his pants, walked around the front of the car, I scooted over, got into the driver’s seat.
“Away we go,” Dave said.
He pulled forward maybe six feet.
My side of the car rose up and slammed down. I could see two sets of headlights coming down the side of the mountain, down from Tioga Pass.
Dave pulled into a
