The horrible pancake and the perilous drive

nightmare — that of going over a cliff in a car. A double whammy.

Anyone who has conquered the notorious pass, which is still gravel and not suitable for heavy vehicles or acrophobics like me, will know that opportunities of going over the edge are in abundant supply. It is only carefully concentrated driving at 20km/h and preferably having both sides of the road entirely to yourself that will get you safely through this “engineering marvel”.

I cared not for the H’s amiable acknowledgement of passing motorists, less still for his “breathtaking” updates of majestic mountains, rock formations, untouched flora and historical anecdotes. In fact, the H’s every utterance simply intensified my suffering.

I’d lied to the “end times” nun. I closed my eyes to block out the terror and to pray, begging forgiveness and travelling mercies. The H was now mute. Nothing was going to pacify his traumatised wife. When we reached our destination I wanted to both thank and castigate him. In the end, silence seemed wisest.

And so, there’ll be no more white lies from me. Nor trips through hectic mountain passes. — © Debbie Derry

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