Hill country driving

Stabilized with a load of books in the back of our van we had agreed to transport across country as a favor, my husband drove up the long, rough dirt road to the family party on top of the steep hill. He pulled in and parked (as told) in the thick grass beside the rough dirt road. I took in the view across the valley then began to hike up to the top of the hill to the party. I was only a little bit out of breath from the climb and the higher altitude.
Near the end of the party, my sister and I went back to our cars so I could get something I had to give her. Now that most of the company had gone, we decided we would move our cars closer to the house.She pulled out in her little car and disappeared up to the top of the steep hill.
My loaded van, with its rear wheels on the downside of the parking area, spun its front wheel drive tires and dug deep into the wet grass to the soil underneath. I turned the wheel, I tried rocking the car, I tried backing up. It only left another rut in the grass. Fearing I would slide all the way down hill or worse yet turn sideways enough that the van would tip over, I stopped trying. I grew up in this hilly farming country and I’ve seen and heard of tractors tipping on these hills. Looking at the narrow confines of the mowed and un-mowed areas and the cars still parked near my van, I set the brake and walked back up to the house. My husband could move it later. Let him be the expert who drives on slippery roads and in and out of tight parking spots.
I huffed my way up the hill to the house.
Later, the party over, we went back down the hill and he confidently got in to show me how to drive out of a slippery situation.
He pressed gently on the accelerator. The tires spun. He put it in reverse. The tires spun.
“We’ll have to push,” he said. I volunteered to get out and push. My brother came about that time and he put his considerable strength into the push.
The car spun, turned and did not move except to slide a bit further down hill.
“It’s all those books in the back of the car,” I said.
We unloaded books.
The car spun. We unloaded more books.
The car refused to get on with the business of driving down the hill.
My cousin stopped on her way down the hill and jumped out to help.
“We need to get something under the tire,” she declared. I volunteered one of the boxes holding books.
She positioned the flattened cardboard in front of the tire. My husband revved the engine. The tires spun and the van stayed put.
“Let me try driving,” she said and my husband got out. She has lived in snow country 59 years and driven these steep hills for decades. She knows how to get out of slippery spots.
The wheels spun.
My husband got back in and tried again with the three of us pushing.
Nothing happened. The van would not move forward.
My brother said, “Here, let me try.” He has lived in Arizona most of his adult life. In the desert. No snow and not too many steep roads and hills.
He looked at the dash, assessed the location of gears – and popped the brake. Released from its bondage, the car turned and obediently began moving down the hill.
We re-loaded the books and left the party with another story for my brother and cousin to tell for many years.
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times. E-mail her at jhershberger@eldoradonews.com.)