THE ROAD ONCE TAKEN by Ellyn Wolfe

April 6, 2004     Snake River, Eastern Oregon

It’s Mel who takes me up to Larry’s gold mine on his green Bombardier ATV. The climb begins on a dirt road along a raging stream, which we cross twice. We pass small abandoned mines, some covered by sheets of metal, some gaping holes in the mountainside. More abandoned mines, larger ones, are along the way, each leaving a wretched mess of rusting bulldozers, dredgers, and miscellaneous machinery scattered across the landscape. 

     We leave the road and drive higher across grassy rolling hills, past clumps of leftover winter snow and emerging spring flowers. “Keep your eyes peeled for bear and mountain lions,” Mel says. 

     Yikes.

     We maneuver through multiple switchbacks, nothing too scary until we reach Larry’s base camp at six thousand feet, which resembles his domicile—filled with old rotting chairs, white buckets, huge pieces of machinery, rusting cars, and garbage. Lots of garbage. 

     “Okay, the next part is hairy. Hang on,” Mel says. 

     This next stretch is what Larry was talking about when he said, “Watch out for that last leg of the mountain.” In front of us are sixty feet of deep and very loose uphill gravel. The stones are larger than road gravel, the edges are sharp, and they are not packed down, so they don’t hold together very well. I can’t even call it a road, but a way to the top of this mountain. The grade is so steep, I’m afraid we’ll topple over backwards.

     I take one look and yell, “Stop! Let me off! There’s no way I’m driving up that road of death!” Mel stops, and I carefully get off the ATV. I take a few deep breaths, trying to stave off a panic attack.

     I’m already thinking about the trip down, because at the bottom of this treacherous rubble, where I am now standing, is a sharp hairpin turn with a tiny landing. If you’re going too fast or don’t angle your vehicle just right, you will go off the cliff, become airborne, and take a fast trip six thousand feet straight down to the bottom. 

     “I’ll walk up. See you at the top.” My feet sink into the rocks. I slip several times but make it to the summit. Mel guns the ATV and, with rocks flying, barely makes it up. “I think I’ll have to spend the rest of my life up here,” I say, “because there’s no way I’m going down. If I slip, like I did on the way up, it’ll be all over.”

     “Take a look at this view,” he says. 

     His distraction works. I gaze out over the tranquil Snake River, the desolate mountains on the other side in Idaho, the vast unspoiled vista, and my panic evaporates. 

     Then I turn around and look at the junk pit that is Larry’s mine. First thing I see is a huge yellow excavator, like they use for highway construction. “How on earth did he get that monster up here?”

     “Very carefully,” says Mel.

     There is more junk strewn around—slightly less than below, but still disgusting. Mel walks me over to a pit thirty feet long by twenty feet wide, dug into pure rock, and at least thirty feet deep. “This is it—Larry’s White Bucket Mine. He’s been working this for seventeen years.” 

     “Holy cow! I’ve never seen anything like this. What has he found? Lots of gold?”

     “He’ll never say. One rule about gold mining—you keep to yourself. There are plenty of people who would love to take you out and take it over for themselves. Just like that. They hear about a big strike, and you’re toast.”

     We take one last look around before I skooch my way down the death road on my butt. I can’t watch as Mel inches down in a controlled skid, his knuckles white on the brakes. Once he’s around the hairpin and safely away from the edge, I get on the ATV and don’t look back.

     Halfway down the mountain, he stops. “Okay, little sister, you take over getting us home. I’ll teach you how to work this thing.” 

     He shows me the basics. I start cautiously until I get the hang of it, then let it rip when we hit the dirt road along the river. “Woo hoo! This is awesome!” I shout as we speed recklessly along. Something deep is releasing within me. It feels good to let go and be crazy for a little while. 

     My brother is standing on the porch when I zip into the driveway and screech to a halt. “Oh my god, it’s you driving like that! All I saw was a cloud of dust and heard yelling over the roar of the motor. I was going to kill Mel for being so out of control with you on that thing! What the hell!”

     “No problem, Russ. I was having fun!”

     The next morning, Russ comes into the kitchen from outside. His face is pale. “You won’t believe this. I was halfway down the driveway on Mel’s ATV just now, and the brakes went out! Holy shit! You two were up the mountain on that thing. Oh my god.”

     I think about Mel maneuvering down from the gold mine, the dangerous landing, and me gunning it crazily on the narrow river road. If the brakes had gone out then …

     Two years later, as Larry was coming down the death road in his Chevy, his luck gave out. Did the brakes or engine fail? Was it a claim jumper who sabotaged his truck? Did he miscalculate the hairpin turn? No one knows the details, but Larry went sailing off into the blue in his Chevy truck and took the short and final way down.