HIGHWATER LADIES I had been checking out the creek to see if the recent high water had taken out the pasture fence along the road, where the road crosses the creek. Just as I suspected, it hadn’t. A four-inch rain takes out the fence every time, but this one had been limited to two inches. A lot of debris against the fence to be removed, but the fence was still intact. What I found was three middle aged ladies, still in their Sunday go-to-meetin’ clothes, whose small car was stuck in the graveled low water crossing. They had just been out for a Sunday drive, they told me later, and thought they could go on through the creek and see the country. Those crossings are not bad for a four-wheeler, like my high wheeled pickup—and they aren’t too difficult for a rear wheel drive, when the water is low enough. But with a front-wheel drive car, especially a small one, like the one the church ladies were in, it is almost impossible to get across. Just about the time your front wheels start to dig into the loose dry gravel on the other side, the weight on your back wheels makes the rear drop—then there is not enough friction to make the front tires grasp the gravel well enough to pull you through. In snow the front wheel drives are fine. But in loose gravel, forget it. And if the water is the least bit high, like this day, it can give your car just enough buoyancy to make the wheels spin even worse. There are other “low water bridges,” as they are called, which aren’t as bad, except in high water. One of them consists of a concrete filled platform across a creek, and has one or more culverts running underneath through which the water flows. When the creeks are low you can drive your vehicle right across them. But if the water comes up, and runs over the tops of them, you shouldn’t. Many people still try it, and sometimes they get washed on down the creek—sometimes to their deaths. But the gravel crossings, like these ladies were trapped in, are the worst. The members of the trio were yelling that water was getting up around their ankles. I was just glad they had not attempted to climb out of the car and wade through the creek. There was just enough current to knock them on their cabooses, and the water was deep enough just downstream from the crossing to put them in real peril. As soon as I realized the predicament of all concerned, I put my truck in four-wheel drive and eased it out into the crossing. Stepping out into the water—heck, I was already wearing hip boots, looking for a washed-out fence, remember—I pulled a chain out of my truck’s tool box. I hooked it to the back bumper braces of the car, and to my front bumper. Soon I was slowly pulling the ladies, and their car, back through the creek the way they had come. When they opened their car doors, water ran out, and so did they—if the way ladies their age move can be called running. I used some shop rags from my truck to dry off their feet and the inside of their car as best I could, then they started opening their purses. “We’ll pay you what ever you charge for this service,” said the driver, thankfully. “How much do you want?” “Just a smile and a wave, if we ever meet again,” I said, laughing. “And I hope it’s not in a creek.” “It won’t be,” they said, almost in unison.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Jul 2013 14:23:30 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015