Pacheco Pass

Even though I’m from north Louisiana (about 140 feet above sea level), I’m familiar with the term pass (as it relates to roads and not grades).

Pacheco Pass (Source: Wikipedia)

This weekend I drove up to Modesto in the Central Valley and took the Pacheco Pass.

I’d barely noticed the hills when I rode up with my friend a month or so ago, so wasn’t too concerned.

Until I was.

My lane had a big dip in it, which caused a brief moment of panic.

And by brief, I mean brief in the sense that the universe is a gazillion years old and the 40 minutes it took me to get back to flat ground is just a blink of a cosmic eye.

This pass is through the Diablo mountains. Coincidence? I think not.

It’s haunted. The damn road is haunted. There’s a book about it.

Available on Amazon for the curious.

Maybe I’m sensitive to the energetic residue of the numerous fatal crashes on the road.

Maybe I’m a flatlander who’s unsettled by the nearness of cliffs and the ease with which a person hurtling down a mountain at 65 mph might find herself offroading into a canyon.

Maybe I’m unnerved by sketchy roads and distracted drivers.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s all of the above.

Don’t worry Mom. I made it back. In one piece.

About Laura Alford, PhD

I'm a recent graduate of LSU (PhD in Accounting). In addition to academic research, I also write fiction on Tuesday nights with the Asilomar Writers.
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