Gov't. Camp to Timberline Lodge
I was 16, a busboy at Timberline Lodge, Mt. Hood, and had borrowed my friends 1959 Plymouth, long on power, short on tires and shocks. I'm driving a girl who waitressed with me down the mountain to look for a parking place and as I come to a long rt. hairpin, I punch it.
That car leans way over and the tail slides for the guardrail across the uphill lane. Can't have that. countersteer
bigtime and the tail comes swinging back, fishtailing and squealing way back and all the way around. I''m now pointed straight at the guard rail, foot still on the gas. Smack, nailed it
, and tore it in half, both ragged lengths hanging over the precipice
(400 ft.? anyone?) and the Plymouth with one wheel suspended in mid air. We're alright, we're not so cool at the moment, and my bud is not going to like the front right fender the way it looks now. Click the Power-glide into reverse and pray. Easy.....Whew!
But when my tables at Timberline would say: "My God did you see that! Who drove off the cliff? They must have been killed for sure." I couldn't shut up. I had to say: "'twas I, my friend, and lived to tell the tale" or something along those 16 yr old ski racer lines. Well my dumb-a-- bragging got me a humongous bill from the state of Oregon and an invitation never to drive within her borders again. I hope they have forgiven or at least forgotten, as I never did get the dough for 80 feet of guardrail, and I have
become a conservative driver, if not a more modest person.
No pics. apologies. have been back though, on a bicycle mostly.
A road dangerous without teen drivers to challenge its 30 or so hairpins is Stelvio Pass, a road I drove in a VW camper piloted by a ski patrol friend in 1963 to ski the glacier in the summer. All national team skiers. Awesome moguls, all in the fall line. no one ever traversed one bump.