Today, I went to a quilting class with a good friend of mine. The class is about an hour north of where I live in a little community called Chester. The drive is curvy and mountainous, but one which I make regularly. Today's trip came very close to being my last...or at the very least, my last one for awhile.
As we drove north on Highway 89 and rounded a curve, an on-coming loaded logging truck was just crossing the double yellow line headed in my direction. My first thought was that he just wasn't paying much attention. As he continued to come farther and farther in my lane, I began to slow and head for the shoulder. When he was almost completely in my lane, he corrected and pulled quickly back into his lane. I pulled over about 20 feet farther and just sat there shaking, trying not to cry. It was that close.
A few minutes later, I had calmed down and we headed for the next town where we'd planned to stop for coffee. I was tempted to stop at the sheriff's substation, but then realized the only thing I could tell them was that it was a red logging truck; I couldn't ID the driver or the insignia on the door. Instead, we got coffee and continued on to our class...thankful to still be going.
My first two thoughts after realizing how close I came to a serious accident or maybe even death...my husband and my little filly, Emma. I was thrilled to see them both tonight.