I live to tell...

I am alive but only by the thickness of a piece of paper.

I left Mission having survived the brain-freeze of a Ice Cap. Just when you think all was working out, about 3 km down the road I was struck by a late-80's/early-90's cherry-red Taurus wagon. What the hell is that?

The fender of the car rubbed my bags, but my hip took the full force of the passenger mirror. I tried to wave the guy down (to give him a little you-know-what) but he drove on. It was a HIT AND RUN. Is that possible?

Settling down from that, the next day I am coasting down (an all too infrequent) hill out of Hope and I am passed by a large truck, a B-train (with two trailers) loaded with 2x6 cedar planks. He is out of control and it is clear that things are going badly. At the end of the hill is a slight turn left and a bridge. The truck blew by me and then proceeded to take out the bridge, upset itself and spray timbers like toothpicks along the road. Completely destroying the right-hand guardrail and blocking the road.

It was fortunate that there were no injuries.

It was fortunate that I was not 2 min along my trajectory as I would have been dead-center of the action.

As it was I was the first on the scene having watched the show in vivid technicolor. There was an RV rolling eastward (in the same direction as the truck) which was highcentered by the flying debris. The old lady was freeked and so was the mutt. The old codger was too busy yakking on the cellphone to stanch the flow of her blood...and the more blood that was smeered on the dog, the more freeked the poor woman got. The truckdriver, a sikh fellow, reinstalled his turban and then climbed out of the cab. Cops arrived, so did the ambulance. Quick responders all, but the story that there was a car in the gully was all wrong.

pics to follow