I've never had a near death experience. I've never been a part of a true, honest to god, that was me starring death in the face kind of situation. I have been in really precarious (etch a sketch) scenarios living in places, like Thailand, where health and safety precautions are "really up to you". Relying on motorbikes as my main mode of transportation there, climbing, and living life at a million miles an hour, I've been faced with a lot of "ooo that probably wasn't the safest..." sort of feelings, but nothing that stopped me dead in my tracks. I can say, fortunately, that despite the madness of this life, this world has graciously taken care of me. However, yesterday was different. Yesterday, I saw death. I saw the end of the road, felt the sliding, and accepted that I was about to go over the edge. It was my first near death experience, but like I said, this world has graciously taken care of me.
The flurry of snowflakes descended on the city. I was hanging out at my friend's house making hot apple cider with pineapple and fresh ginger mixed in when we notices a few flakes fluttering outside of the kitchen window.
"We're going outside!"
We rushed out the door and into the front yard where snow flakes circled around us. I shrieked like a child! "Snow! Holy cow! This is what I was dreaming of! Snow for the first time in 2 years! Snoooow!"
It was awesome - cold and perfect. Finally, "Forever Fall 2012" had decided to give way to winter and I was thrilled. Looking up towards the mountains, we saw clouds settling over the the ski hill and it was decided - change of plans for the day, we have to go there!
After grabbing seasonal coffee specials, we started driving up the mountain where, very quickly, we found ourselves in a winter wonderland. Icy trees - almost dusted or lightly frosted with snow had replaced the golden Aspens that had decorated the mountains just one month before. The Sange de Cristos had undergone a total transformation and it was magical. We continued slowly up the twisty mountain pass, looking out across the deep snow packed ravines that plunge from the road, taking in the beauty of it all. It got colder as we gained in elevation and though the snow seemed to cake the pavement, we were steadily making our way to the top of the ridge. Then, the car slid out. Sideways we slipped down the road, for a good couple of seconds, when the tires caught, whipping the vehicle to its other side to slide for another few feet. It seemed like slow motion, but we finally straightened up to continue down the road. We were quiet. For a minute we just sat there digesting what had just happened. Then, we laughed because we had both gotten a little bit nervous even though, while we were sliding, we had acted composed - like this was an everyday occurrence Nervous giggling breaking up the awkward silence, we joked back and forth, but since we were almost up the mountain, we continued, though we cruised a little more cautiously. My friend tended to the situation by saying, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill us or anything."
"I know you're not," I responded and I believed it. I trust him when he's driving and any nervousness that I was holding on to simmered down as I settled into my seat and thought about the snow globe that we seemed to have been caught in.
We started talking about how we act in situations regarding impending physical danger. I maintained that calmness is my deal, because in the most stressful situations I have found myself in, usually climbing, I know that I have to stay balanced and focused instead of panicking - in order to, well, survive. So now, when I am stressed, I don't really feel any nervousness until after something has occurred. Like with the car sliding - I didn't feel stressed about it at all until after the car was under control and we had continued a ways down the road. Then, it retrospect, I thought, "Wow, that was kind of intense."
We were plodding along, one switch back at a time, when we made it to the overlook, about a half a mile from the top. "We'll stop here on the way down," my friend assured me, and we made our way around the final curves in the road, before we reached the pinnacle of our journey and felt as though we had been transported to another world. The ski basin, snowy and wonderful, looked like an untouched winter wonderland. I was elated that we had made it and the scariness of the slip and slide event was pushed to the back of my mind. I was happy to be in the mountains, in the snow, and caught up in such an incredible adventure. In front of the ski lodge, the road bends in a large loop before descending back down the mountain and I was impressed as the car handled the track with grace. My mind went to the overlook, where I was eager to stop, take in the view, and feel the triumph of being on top of the world. With confidence in our ability regained, we headed to the first turn of our decent.
Well, it seemed like we should have been turning. We didn't. We were headed straight for the edge. The tires, without proper traction on the road, weren't gripping asphalt, but were gliding across the top of the packed snow. I looked at my friend. I looked at the edge. The end of the pavement was covered in freshly fallen snow, that wasn't packed down, and I thought, "It's okay, the chunky snow will stop the car from sliding." We were headed straight for it on our side. Closer. Closer. Finally, the tires caught, but instead of stopping, we spun. Doing a 180 degree turn, we headed backwards off the edge of the ravine. My mind was clear. I was thinking, "Here we go," when inches from the edge, the car miraculously came to a halt. "Oh, thank God," I repeated to myself silently. My friend restarted the stalled engine, but after giving it some gas, it was clear that we were stuck.
I didn't hesitate to jump from the car saying, "You drive; I'll push us out." If there's one thing that growing up in the mountains has prepared me for, it's pushing cars out of the snow. So, I went to work, putting all of my weight into the back of the car and though the wheels were spinning and my feet were sliding, within a minute or so, we had made some progress and the car was maneuvered from the edge of the road. I plopped back into the car, happy with the fact that we weren't stuck, could continue on our way, and proud of myself for getting us back on track, without once considering the grave danger we had skirted.
Then, it began to sink in. My friend started to recount the event. We had been inches from the edge of the road. That meant that we were inches from the edge of the ravine. Without a guardrail, that would have meant we would have gone over. Backwards. Backwards off of the road. Backwards off of the road and into the ravine. Holy shit. We worked it out together. Holy cow - that's what we were on the brink of! A ravine!
Shaken from this taste of reality, we pulled over at the overlook and just looked at each other, thankful that, though inches from a different outcome, we were alright. Backwards. Backwards off of the road. Backwards and not stopping. We just 180-ed so quickly...why hadn't the snow caught us faster? Holy shit.
Just then, as if recounting the severity of the situation together hadn't blown our minds enough, we saw something that would be the cherry on top. Mid-sentence, my friend seemed to freeze up. His eyes were locked dead ahead. I followed his stare to the railing of the overlook, where perched before us, in a flurry of snowflakes and streaming sunlight, sat a raven. A raven! I, too, fell silent. I could hear our breathing fall in sync as we remained motionless and starring. It felt like forever, but was more like the span of a minute that we sat in the car watching this bird. Finally, as if just waiting to catch our attention, the raven spread his wings and soared off, gracefully flying over the world.
Considered an omen of death, we shuddered at the symbolism in correlation with our experience. Just sitting there. A raven. Watching it all. Nearby the whole time. Waiting. Suddenly, every moment felt raw and precious, so much so, that we felt overwhelmed by the desire to abandon the warmth of the car, and go to the overlook's edge. We had to experience the view. Snow crunching beneath our steps, we reached the railing and the world seemed to open up before us. It was majestic. Storm clouds blanketed Santa Fe, but the sun illuminated the entire valley and left the snow flakes glistening. We looked out through the flurries dancing with the icy wind, mesmerized by the drama and emotion of the Southwest, silently trying to take it all in.
Later that evening, we were still trying to process the magnitude of the event. The spinning, the raven...that raven, holy cow. It still felt momentous even over dinner, safely miles away from the knife-edge road that snakes up the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. It makes me realize that even though we rarely have reminders, death is always present, always lingering, always waiting. But, for now, it's not my time and the world has graciously taken care of me. Still, it may have been one life used.
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