Love, Lust 'n Geology (1ST DRAFT)

Chapter 8: Truck stuck

Chapter 8: Truck stuck

As pleased as she was with her field assistant, there was one aspect of Chris's job performance that bothered her: his driving. Much of their work was in logging areas owned by forestry companies, where vast tracts of trees had been cut down, exposing and allowing access to the rocks underneath. The first time she'd entered a logging area, it had struck her that the utter devastation which the vast majority of the population would find disturbing, indeed, obscene, was like a gift from heaven to geologists. Funny how that worked!

The roads in such areas were universally uneven and littered with branches and cobbles. Some roads were just in the process of being prepared, and wouldn't even be considered passable by most sensible drivers. But regardless of the condition of the road, be it smooth highway, or proto-logging road, Chris's approach remained the same: to attack the road. Sometimes, the jostling in the truck was so severe that even though she was belted in, her bottom would elevate right off the seat.

She had told Chris countless times to slow down, but the reminder would only stay in his working memory for, oh, about five minutes, after which he'd revert to his usual style. Having suffered from significant nagging herself at Grant's hands, she was reluctant to inflict the same on Chris and had adopted the approach of bearing with his driving as stoically as she could. She recognized that it would have been better for her to drive, but having grown up in downtown Toronto with access to public transit practically at her doorstep, she really didn't have all that much experience driving and was reluctant to try her hand at a truck on rugged terrain. Perhaps she'd have to revise that stance?

This particular morning, she sat gazing at a logging map obtained from the forestry company, giving Chris directions. They drove into an area in which the condition of the road was far more primitive than any that they had encountered before. Where they were driving couldn't rightly be called a road, just a wide path which had been cleared, and not very well at that. Thick branches were strewn in front of them, and as she fought valiantly, but futilely, to keep her finger positioned on their location on the map, it seemed that Chris was encountering each and every one at full speed. She glanced at him several times, unable to believe that it hadn't occurred to him to slow down.

She saw that they were approaching a bridge, a narrow one. The bridge didn't appear to have any guard rails so they would have to be particularly careful driving across it. She settled back in her seat, anticipating that Chris would slow down. 50 metres to the bridge, by her estimate. 40 metres. 30 metres. The truck was still bombing along. She glanced worriedly at Chris. What the heck? Didn't he see the bridge?

Finally, at 20 metres, she shouted, "Chris, slow down! There's a bridge ahead!"

Chris's senses seemed to finally register the bridge, and he slammed on the brakes. That was another thing which appeared to be missing from Chris's driving repertoire, the concept of pumping the brakes. The truck started to slow but then began to swerve wildly, with large gobs of mud splashing onto the windows. At the same time, they seemed to lose elevation, as the truck came to an abrupt halt, apparently sinking into mud.

Turning to Chris, she shouted incredulously, "Didn't you see the bridge?"

"No," he muttered apologetically. "I guess my mind was on something else."

"Shit!"

"Sorry."

She sighed. Chris proceeded to step on the gas. The truck moved forward slightly. Subscribing to the notion that if the application of a little force results in a little movement, then more should result in even greater, he pressed down vigorously on the gas pedal.

"Chris, don't!" she shouted.

But it was too late. The truck not only didn't move forward, it moved slightly back, as it sank even deeper into the mud.