It’s late afternoon and I’m midway up a hill in a forest of pines above the Sacramento
River. Below me, just above the river, I watch a sickly deer saunter across the double train
tracks. Stunted trees less than ten feet apart surround me, the forest is so thick it’s hard to
move. The buckbrush (ceanothus) is dead and tinder dry on this first day of June, Even after yesterday’s rain one spark would set it all ablaze. Across the valley, blackened trees stand like dead sentries surveying the mountainous landscape. Overhead, “clouds” stripe the sky from north to south, laid out by planes that the flight-tracker app tells me are commercial airliners. Today there are so many that the entire sky is covered with a sickly linear haze. Nevertheless, it is still quite beautiful here, despite the cacophony emanating from the big rigs that fly by every ten seconds between me and the train tracks.
I’ve been waiting in the wilderness on the side of Highway 5 just north of Shasta
Reservoir for the last four hours. The Oxford dictionary’s defines wilderness as “an uncultivated, uninhabited, and inhospitable region”. It describes this place perfectly. The dense forest is certainly uncultivated. It feels uninhabited, as not one human stops to help as I stand by a large handwritten sign requesting “JACK PLEASE”. It couldn’t be more inhospitable, as crossing the 4 lanes of traffic would surely prove deadly and the dense forest is almost impenetrable.
As the trucks scream by, laden with tons of goods, I remember the words of my
grandfather, a vice-president of warehousing and transportation for Kaiser Aluminum, “you knowSean, trains are seven times more efficient than trucks.”
I fight my way up the hill again through the brush to gain some cellular service, curious as to why the AAA truck still hasn’t arrived. The dispatcher in Ohio, tells me “it will be 3 more hours until the the truck will be there due to sheriff’s calls taking priority.” Perhaps I should have called 911 to be rescued from this wilderness… After a few more phone calls I finally find a service provider who says they can be there in an hour and a half. It’s dark now and I’ve been here for five hours so I am willing to bite the bullet on the cost. Relieved, I thrash my way back down the hill to my truck.
I am elated when an older grey Honda civic pulls out of the deadly asphalt lanes. I shake hands with Carlos, who is on his way back to Redding from a logging job. Everyone was sent home without pay for the week when “the machine broke down.” He tells me that in Oregon last week he too found himself stranded last on the I-5 and no-one stopped to help. “I could see people flying by staring at their phones, ignoring the fact that I was jumping up and down asking for help. Just now, I stopped because I saw you here and didn’t want the same to happen to you in this world where machines take priority.” Carlos is from Tijuana originally and asks me “please don’t judge me by my tattoos, those were a mistake.” I reply “I judge that you are another
human being in this wilderness and I am so happy to see you.”
Carlos’ jack proves too small to use, so I tell him to get back to his family. Soon after, the repair truck arrives. Jake, the repairman, treats the traffic like the ocean, never turning his back on it, always keeping a vigilant eye on approaching trucks as he works. Fifteen minutes later he is gone and I become another southbound machine in the lifeless ocean of I-5.
The next day I wake up back in the Sierras. Here, the forest looks just as unhealthy as it does 200 miles north and the skies are crisscrossed with contrails. It is hard to believe how sick and lifeless things have become on this once vibrant planet. As filmmaker, Marjn Poels says “win or learn” and yesterday sure was one for learning. In the future I will demonstrate my humanity by always stopping to help those who are stranded. I also intend to be more prepared for whatever may happen. The future starts now.
Comentários