Stopped, got out; walked back to cliff edge, breathing hard. Suddenly rubbery legs seemed to suggest another time-out. Sat abruptly. And as stared out over valley, down at river, up at bridge, found was reviewing incident in detaiclass="underline" Had saved minimum of week’s travel; and barring ever-present potential for untoward development arising out of mechanical failure (and despite recurring apnea episodes during crossing), probably not inherently dangerous. Reflected at length, totaling pluses, minuses.
Finally concluded: stupidest damnfool stunt have ever pulled…! What was all-fired rush? So might have had to spend another week circling river. Or month, for that matter. So what…! Not as if on schedule…!
Mechanical-failure risk real; but only then, sitting at brink, contemplating vistas conquered, did practical implications sink in: What would have done had tire gone flat midspan? Or engine quit? Or steering come adrift…?
Sum of potential failure through which could have been stranded or pitched into space at least equals, probably exceeds, total number of parts of which van constructed. Madness to hazard position in which ten-cent part’s failure could cause other than fleeting botheration.
Now, loss of van not disaster per se; replacements endlessly available, one form or another. But inconvenient; much semi-irreplaceable equipment aboard. (To which considerations might be added inconvenience attendant to dropping self, Terry into river, some bunchteen dozen feet below.)
However, when scrutinized under gimlet microscope of hindsight, incident not entirely devoid of redeeming aspects (apart from obvious: Yes, am across that river). No question now: Been blundering along, gripped by curious form of mental myopia. Tight grip, too: Even when glimmer of sense raised head (in form of blithering panic ten feet from safety), never entered head to abort — set brake, seize Terry, abandon ship through rear doors.
Few bridges thus far encountered standing actually physically impassable — to pedestrian. But for blinder-mindedness regarding van, could have walked across, carrying gear; then picked new vehicle on far side. Certainly no dearth of replacements.
Sure, would take several trips to move whole inventory. Probably hard work. But quicker than driving around each river found sprawled across (And surely easier on nerves than emulating Wallendas.)
But, incredibly, was first time concept crossed mind, even as most fleeting of notions. (Curious behavior for certified genius — perhaps should just resign gracefully; avoid humiliation intrinsic to being found out, summarily drummed from corps.)
Okay! Was stupid — lesson learned. But water over dam; no benefit accrues from brooding over mistakes (besides, sackcloth itchy; ashes hard to shampoo from hair). On notice now — van expendable; shall keep fact in mind.
(But perhaps, in exercise of reasonable foresight, new policy implementation unnecessary. Ever. Because not truly fond of idea — not through fuzzy sentimentality, irrational attachment to inert mechanism; of course; practical considerations only: supremely capable on/off-road vehicle; quirks, limitations of which now second nature. Also capacious: lots of gear aboard, stowed neatly; everything in its place, readily at hand. Further, after pedal-lift installation, shift-lever extension, seat relocation, fits me — not insignificant factor from four-foot-ten-inch perspective. Besides, finally have galley in shape: cabinets, drawers organized; stove, oven properly broken in. Hate to go through that again.)
So van expendable, true. Fact now in mind. But “expendable” not synonymous with “consumable”: that fact in mind, too. Next question, please.
Which (from serious historian, student) must be: Did you find anyone, anything, in Baltimore?
Answer: Of course not. Yet — just got here. (Apart from happy discovery that, proximity to Washington notwithstanding, ambient radiation still reads within normal limits.)
Harpers not home; no surprise there. House displays usual signs (which have come to know, hate) of methodical move-out seen elsewhere. No clues immediately apparent; fine-tooth search must await morrow — been long day.
But first, another wallow in civilized decadence. Power out along much of East Coast, but Harpers’ house totally solar powered, plus has own deep well — utterly independent of local utilities. Flip switch, electricity restored. Water standing in system already hot from automatic convective functioning of calorie collector on roof; with electricity working again, pump stands ready to replenish water as used. In brief: Hot shower time again!
Which is practically first thing did upon investigating house. Supper preparation, consumption next; only then turned to present journal update. (Sorry, Posterity; itchy, smelly skin and empty belly come first.)
And delays aside, now appears have done duty: Noteworthy observations, activities memorialized. Time for evening’s revels to peak:
Three beds to choose from. Not difficult decision, though: King-size unsuitable (truly, have walked on marble floors with more resilience). Queen-size fitted with ten-inch foam mattress (into which unwary sleeper might sink beyond hope of rescue). Twin bed, however, is Just Right.
Good night, Posterity.
Goodness…! Hard to know where to begin. So much to relate, but must keep tight rein on impulses lest record become even less coherent than usual. Strictly, therefore, by chronology:
Arose well rested. Indulged in another long, hot shower. Prepared breakfast with usual hilarious difficulty; fending off, with effort, assistance intensively volunteered by jovially ravenous sibling (surely most trying aspect of relationship: Seems the earlier the hour, more unbearably cheerful becomes).
Performed usual half-hour kata to settle breakfast, loosen up musculature.
Thereafter went through house. Thoroughly. Negative-result pattern confirmed suspicions previously formed: Deliberate, preplanned exodus; whether prior to H. sapiens’ demise or immediately thereafter, unknown, immaterial. Lingering question still where.
Finished house examination; time to extend sweep to offices, general work environs. Packed, adjourned to van. Dug address list from Tarzan File, placed on dash next to wheel. Cleaned, refilled Terry’s water, seed dishes -
Of course bringing twin: Wouldn’t dream of leaving birdbrained innocent alone, unprotected. Besides, what if failed to return? Ever. Food, water soon run out. Consequences inevitable; details (how end arrives, how long takes) simply don’t bear thinking about! Yes, retarded brother’s constant companionship high in nuisance value (often downright maddening), but necessary to peace of mind.
Found city map at nearby drugstore, oriented self, located destination; set forth in general direction of Hopkins campus; specifically, doctors’ office park adjacent to teaching hospital.
Never got there.
Everything happened at once, in slow motion: One moment was driving west (had overshot, going first to Harpers’ home) down medium-wide downtown arterial (four lanes, no parking; high-rise buildings jutting from sidewalk edges to form concrete canyon), slowing to turn north at next corner. Next moment, just as moved wheel to begin turn, caught glimpse (same instant heard engine’s bellow, tires’ shrieking) of gold-trimmed, shiny black blur already entering intersection from north, turning east: Full-race Trans Am (wide wheels, tires; unmuffled chrome headers; heaven knows what else) flailing into corner almost sideways, on radius which, requiring entire width of both streets, terminated somewhere between own vehicle’s headlights.