The WDC Olympics: a warmup contest

US 169 follows the Minnesota River until it reaches the rural outskirts of Minneapolis. The highway descends the bluffs of the Minnesota River and winds through the river basin before climbing again to the flat lands. The landscape is lush and green, with elm and maple thick along the river. I was following a semi when my eyes glazed over. The trailer's red lights danced and swirled like a gaudy Christmas tree. I shook my head forcefully, hollered at Steve to wake up, and pulled over to the side of the road. Steve rolled down his window and a blast of cool air brought me back.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "But I think you'd better drive."

Two hours left; We were southwest of Jordan, Minnesota, sixty miles from Minneapolis when Steve took the wheel. I settled into the bucket seat, closed my eyes and slept.

Steve tuned in the radio. "Sorry `bout that buddy," he said, "but I need the noise." The Gremlin hummed as Steve held it at a steady sixty five miles per hour. Even with the radio on I drifted in and out of sleep. The gentle sway of the road reminded me of Debbie. I don't know why, it just did. I wondered what her parents were like. Salt of the earth types, I imagined. honest and kind. Had to be to produce a sweetie like Debbie. I drew a mental picture of what their farm looked like: There would be a two story clapboard farmhouse flanked on one side by a grove of trees and a large barn, three stories tall, set a hundred yards or so behind the house. Next to the barn would stand a machine shed and two silos the size of small sky scrapers, rising abruptly into the blue Kansas sky. I wondered if they had a dog? Sure, every farm had a dog! A border collie would bark as we pulled into the driveway.

"Almost home," Steve said. I opened my eyes to see the bluffs of the Minnesota River. We were descending down into the river basin, the road following the edge of the bluff, when a loud explosion rocked the right side of the car. We veered sharply to the right and bounced out of control heading toward the river. Steve pulled the steering wheel hard to the left and we shot past the center line. Head lights appeared out of nowhere and a horn broke the awful silence, screaming a banshee's scream. Steve tugged the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes. I heard the sound of tires screeching and glass breaking and then felt the impact behind me. The force of the blow caused the Gremlin to spin wildly and we skidded over the edge.

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Imagine that!
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