Driftin’

"Don't let these drifts fool you."

Len stopped the big ol' Chevy 4X4 and set the emergency brake. We were looking up about a 10 degree grade at a snowdrift laying across the rocky old mountain road like a big fluffy snow dog. It looked to be about 5 foot at the hump.

"They crust over hard as a brick during the spring melt." Len got out of the truck. I followed him to the drift. "See," he kicked the drift with his boot. Thump. "You roll up on that dude and you'll bottom out big time."

It was only about my second week on the job. We were on a tour of the mountaintop radio sites that I would have to go to, to repair system outages. It was that time of late spring when there's not enough snow for a snowmobile, but sometimes too much for a 4X4. Len had only been in Colorado himself for about two months, but he talked like he knew what he was doing. Folks like that always make me nervous.

Len looked at the edge of the road where the drift met the rocks cut from the mountain.

"I think we can crawl over this side."

"Whatever you say, Chief."

We walked back toward the truck. I was still at that stage of being awestruck by the sheer beauty of the high country…the blueness of the enormous sky, the expanse of the views, mountains nearby brilliantly glowing white at the tops in the close sun, the thin air full of cool black pine and scents of desolate wildness. A spike mule deer broke from the rocks above and hit the road just behind us – JEEZUS - then BOUNCED over the drift as if it wasn't even there - disappeared.

"Damn," I said. We turned back to the truck. "We oughta saddle up a couple of them dudes for the ride up. Snowdrifts apparently don't enter into their thinkin'."

Len looked at me like I was an idiot. Something caught my eye just past him….a tiny spark of color in a small bare patch in the snow. I walked past Len and kneeled down…the bare patch was only a foot or so round, and in the grey-brown dirt – hell I wouldn't even call it dirt, more like fine, sharp, gravel – was a teensy little purple flower.

"Wow, dude, look at this. Can you believe this? Here we are above 9,000 feet, amongst all this barren snow and rock, and here's this lonely little purple flower in the middle of the snow…"

I looked back at Len. He had his hands on his hips, looking down at me now like I was a SHO 'NUFF idiot.

'I don't do flowers, man," he said.

I stared at the ground for a second. What does he mean he doesn't do flowers? Who don't like flowers? What kinda idiot don't like….I looked up at him:

"What are you, Len, some kinda FAG?!"



He got the 4X4 stuck on the drift. Yup. Fag.