Water, water everywhere
A little bit of excitement flowered in Glen Ellen when a major geyser erupted on the corner of Henno and Warm Springs roads last week.
Apparently the cause was a major truck trying to maneuver the minor roads, something we see frequently here in Glen Ellen these days. Attempting to back up in a tight space, the truck encountered a fire hydrant, causing it to burst.
Though we didn’t witness it, we saw photos of a large transport truck carrying multiple cars. We wonder why that was on Henno Road? Can’t see any car dealers in this vicinity. I hope he was taking cars away, and not dropping them off. We have enough.
Braille method bumps in the night
For the first three decades we lived here at Creekbottom, the only big truck we saw in the neighborhood was the weekly garbage truck, and back then, there was just one.
Then in the past decade, truck traffic began to bloom, and faster traffic too. Now big trucks are more than occasional visitors up and down our tiny lanes. Many barely navigate the historic bridge on O’Donnell Lane. In fact, one didn’t entirely keep to the straight and narrow on a recent bridge crossing. The amazing scars are easy to see on the bridge’s guard wall.
But those certainly aren’t the first scars that venerable old bridge has suffered. For many years, an eccentric and beloved neighbor found his way home from the lodge at 2 a.m. by using those guard walls as a guide. That fellow has long since gone to his heavenly reward (and he will remain unnamed). But, back in the day, when we’d be awakened by a bump on the bridge, we knew he was soon to be safe at home. The good news is, he always moved slowly.
Fast cars are threatening, fast trucks are worse. And huge trucks on that little bridge are just too big. And probably in violation of the weight limits, too.
Playing in traffic
As for Arnold Drive, the traffic through Glen Ellen is constant. Sweetie and I joke that old folks like us have to plan our crossings carefully these days. Even then, we sometimes encounter cars racing through town so fast they seem to appear out of nowhere, as we attempt to cross from the little market to Carmel Avenue on our way to the Regional Park.
While I’ll never be good at out-pacing racing cars, I have developed a pretty formidable stance to make them stop long enough so I can waddle across the street. These lame legs have their own speed limit.
My technique, in case you care to know: I stop when cars approach too fast, keep two feet planted firmly, slightly wider than my hips, my arms outspread (like I might do to intimidate a mountain lion), Then with a wave or two to get the car to see me, I proceed. Wakes up most of them. So far, so good.
But I’m glad I didn’t have to tangle with that transport truck backing up blindly across Henno and Warm Springs roads.