It’s that time of the year again – when the snow melts and the ground doesn’t. As a result, billions of gallons of mountain snow turns to water within the space of three weeks and heads in our direction.
The layer of permafrost won’t let it in except for the topmost couple of inches; just enough to make sludge. The road is worse. It should have been regraded and graveled a couple of years ago but that would require the neighbors to agree on something.
In the past it was bad enough that the easement doubled as a creek but this year we have three times the traffic. Wheels turn into large beaters and the weight of the vehicles leave behind ruts as deep as the Grand Canyon.
The destruction extends to the main road. Recently, the postal service stopped delivering until we fixed the area in front of our boxes. Luckily, someone came forward and dumped a load of rocks in the well that had developed, restoring our service.
The trek has become so intimidating, if we don’t need something critical like milk or gas – we stay home.
Yesterday, however, we needed cat food so we steeled ourselves for the passage and piled in the four-wheel drive. As we inched our way to the top of the worst part of the easement – a steeply graded slope – we noticed someone laid pavement at the bottom.
More accurately, someone lobbed chunks and fragments of broken pavement all over the road. Some slabs were two feet in diameter, corners jutting up threateningly. Smaller shards haphazardly filled the shallowest of points through the sinkhole. In places, they lay stacked as much as three deep.
It had our uppermost neighbor’s signature all over it. A true “hold my beer” job if I ever saw one.
Whatever vehicle they drove left the deepest ruts we’ve ever seen, which they missed with the asphalt. It was almost impassable. I told my husband to hold on while I jumped out and proceeded to redistribute the minefield in some logical fashion. I took the pictures after I rearranged the pieces.
I jumped back in to safety and we crawled, squished and fell into the hollows as far to the right as we could. We inched past, on the verge of losing our grip and rolling down the slope away from the road.
Now we had to make it past Cowhead Guy’s house (explanation here).
The adventure continues.