I have read that if one challenges oneself, once a day, one will be a better, more well rounded person for it.  Today, I challenge myself one time, multiplied by several years (I believe I have the extra grey hair to prove it) which leads me to wonder: am I that much of a chicken? 

Living on the big island of Hawaii poses every day challenges that I would never have thought of, living in the “big” city of Denver, Colorado.  In the city, it is easy to take things for granted: a paved road?  But of course!  A grocery store within a couple of minutes—naturally!  Neighbors within the same block—definitely so.  Street signs?  Yes, of course.  On the big island—none of these things can be taken for granted, in fact, we are lucky when we have at least one of these things—a paved road, for instance.

My husband and I both share his suburban monster tank—that I don’t exactly love to drive, let alone four-wheel drive in, as a passenger.  (In fact I think that being a passenger is actually more of a challenge than being the driver, in certain cases!)  This morning, I plan to meet someone in town and the only way that I can do that is to borrow his lipstick red truck. 

We drop Ed off at work; I play with the goats while our dog, Olsun, romps with Ed’s client’s two “girls,” Hannah and Genie.  The view toward the ocean is spectacular and also sweet—her home feels protected, as if in a bowl, providing privacy from her neighbors on her three-acre property. 

When it is time to leave, my body feels hesitant and I ask Ed if he is “kicking me out.”  No, he tells me, he is just waiting to close the gate behind me, so that the dogs do not stray.  I meekly hoist myself into the driver’s seat of the monster and take a couple of moments to adjust the seat and mirrors.  Then Olsun and I are off.

I decide to drive down the “easier” road—the one we drive down several times, the one I am more familiar with, the shorter one.  Ed mentions to me he doesn’t like that road, it’s too hard on his monster tank—so he takes another road that I have already lost the turn to.  As I drive down the rocky, hilly, grassy road, I realize that it’s harder than I remember.  “Okay, Ed, you win this one,” I say to myself, while Olsun cocks his head and puts his paw on my shoulder from the back seat. 

A long sugar cane branch makes its way across the passenger windows with a “whack!” and a “shhhhhhhhh!” as we head down the road.  At the end of the rough road is a closed gate; this is the first time that I am both the driver and the gate opener/closer.  I get out, hoping that the door doesn’t automatically lock, like the passenger door inanely does.  I swing open the metal gate, drive through, park, then swing back the gate and pull the metal chain over the hook on the post.  I climb back up into the waiting lipstick red monster and feel grateful that it is still there.  For some reason, I picture it galloping away, at top speed, without a driver.  Then again, I seem to be solidly living in my fear, lately.

I glide the rest of the way down the hill that is paved, thankfully.  I wait at the crossroad, to get unto the two-lane highway.  And again, we are off.

I look for the turnoff to where we are currently living, so that I can be sure to know where to turn, when I need to.  Then I head to the library, to get a temporary card while I am living here.  Almost missing the turn, the tires squeal to make the tight turn, that would have easily been made with a human-sized vehicle.  My husband takes offense at my comments about his truck and sadly so, I keep my thoughts to myself. 

I make the turn going into the library and just about pull up to the entrance when I notice there is a metal chain across the road.  Obviously, the library has not opened, yet.  For a moment I fret—how will I get this—thing--out of here?  I turn around and back up and realize that it’s easy and I relax.  In going out, I decide to take a road that I have only taken once before—the back way to our gravel road.  The radio is tuned to a classical station, Hawaii Public Radio and it sends soothing melodies into the air. 

Most of the road is paved and scenic and I travel up it feeling right at home with my decision.  Up and up we go.  The road is hilly and we roller coaster our way up.  It’s a lovely day, not too warm, clear and vastly open, the clouds wandering yet not stopping to unleash their tears.  I reach a crossroads and decide to continue straight ahead.  The road turns windier, rougher and I take a couple of large rocky hazards/crevasses very slowly, as Ed does.  The road narrows, narrows, until I don’t recognize it, anymore.  In my fear I lose sight of where we are and I have trouble trusting my gut intuition.  Did I make a wrong turn, somewhere?

The radio jockey announces Bolero—although for seemingly minutes, I hear nothing.  I stop the monster truck, just before I come to a fairly sizeable drop in the road.  I think about turning back.  There is no way that I could back up out of that drop milliseconds in front of us!  I think about calling Ed, in a panic, to tell him I am lost, even though he has never taken the road I am on, before, either.  I can’t reach the phone that sits in my bag, on the floor of the passenger side.  On one side of us is a good-sized cliff and I don’t want to take my seatbelt off.  Olsun is also belted in the back seat. 

Bolero begins to become audible.  I decide to back up, slowly, surely.  Olsun reassuringly licks my hand that is grabbing onto the back of the seat, as my knuckles quickly lose blood.  You can do this, he says to me.  I knew he reminded me of Ed; now I realize why.  Ed always wants me to challenge myself, for me to break out of my comfort zone, ignoring his own issues.  Obviously it’s much easier to push my limits, rather than pushing his own.  Sometimes that’s a goddess send for my growth and sometimes it makes me want to strangle him.  I thank Olsun for his confidence in me and continue backing up, Bolero beating louder, like my heart, pulsing, beating, pulsing, beating, louder, with more force.  I look behind me and realize we are headed straight for the cliff.

What the fuck am I doing?  Bolero continues beating, pulsing, beating, pulsing, louder, louder, louder, with every beat.  My heart mirrors the music; my heart is in my throat, being swallowed.  It’s bloody tasting and it’s hot and slimy.  Here we are in the middle of nowhere, our lives hanging in imminent danger while classical music serenades us on the radio.  If I weren’t so scared stiff, I’d be able to crack a smile about the irony of it all.

Pulling forward, I back up, again.  It’s not enough, we’re still headed toward the cliff, pretty close, now--a small tree is almost knocking on the side window.  Olsun leans forward, licking my hand and looking worried, with forehead creased fur.  Suddenly he lies down, as if he doesn’t want to watch what is going to happen next.  I don’t blame him.  I wish he were driving! 

I pull forward again, and straighten the wheels, as Bolero ticks away, like a clock, insistent, louder, ticking away the time we have left on this earth, at this very spot.  This time I make it and in backing up, we are once again on the road.  Thankfully, there is a driveway (with a closed gate inches behind it) and I back up unto the small piece of road. 

My body sighs, relaxes, then lets go.  I am woman--I am strong.  I am both crazy and a survivor.  I turn right, going back the way we came.  If I have to drive all the way back to the beginning, we will, I think.  Yet when we come to the crossroad, I realize that we must be on the right road—I suddenly remember turning this way the first time, when I came down this road, driven by a friend, in her car. 

Bolero continues on, bold, strong, stronger.  And that is how I feel--I have conquered this road in this monster vehicle and found my way toward home.  I can now open all gates alone, by myself, with no worry, no problem.  I careen on the gravel path, at times traveling at a 90-degree angle.  No problem.  I stop at the next gate, a few feet away from the cattle, cattle that I used to be petrified of, only days ago.  I casually open the gate, drive through, close the gate, while the cattle look on, curious, ever so curious, like a cat.  I am strong, able, heroic, even.  And then I come to the stream, as the water pours over the most dangerous cliff, where in years past, not so long ago, a couple was killed going over the side, because of the rushing water.  The stream is not roaring simply because it has not rained for the past couple of days. 

Yet it is still one more time I must gather my courage and move forward…. The Nike term, “Just do it,” creeps across my windshield, immediately dissolving.  Slowly I crawl, slowly forward, into the unknown, into the ankle deep water.  And Bolero abruptly ends, symbols crashing.