Songline for Wolf Creek Pass

You'll know you're almost home
when you reach that pull out in the road,
the one where you put your chains on -
or take them off.
Immediately after is the last bridge
that goes over the Rio Grande.
The river is just a creek here,
headwaters a few miles away
90 degrees due west
at the Continental Divide,

Big up country starts now!

Gear down here and start to gather speed.
Consider the laws of classical physics:
Force equal mass times acceleration.
The area under a curve -
defined by topography and road.
Vectors become a calculus of place.
And in those days, that road was narrow -
two lanes, no guardrails.
The mountain demanded that physics turn to dance -
A syncopated rhythm, improvisational jazz beat.

Up ahead now, there's a semi,
going far too slow.
And I have a record to break.
Besides, I never cared much for brakes.
In the mountains,
use your gears!

Don't burn out going down.
Don't brake going up.

Swing out and around
into that outer lane,
tires skittering near edge -
sharp-curve-drive-through-the-fear
1,000 foot drop off !
Pay it no mind.
Keep your eyes where you want your tires to go.
You are staying on the road!

Then swing back in,
smooth and easy.
It was a riff done by girl and car,
road and mountain -
accelerating into those curves,
not moving the way fear demanded.
Fear would have you look over the edge,
stand on your brakes,
skid out of control,
spin over and down.

The trucker flashes his lights, blinking
ON OFF! ON OFF!
TWICE - in admiration -
I lift one hand from the wheel, turn
and blow him a kiss.

But the road claimed my attention
like a jealous lover.
You learn to respect the pass,
listen to its demands
after 7 years of travel -
sometimes in winter blizzards,
sometimes in sudden washouts of summer rain.
And don't forget the occasional avalanche
thrown in just to see if you're paying attention.
Wolf Creek always has its moods.
And so do I.

Today, I am in love
with this pass, these mountains, these curves
these spring wildflowers,
which have come out just for me, waving,
as I take those sharp turns effortlessly, flying,
my small Subaru purring like a great cat,
sure-footed
hugging the road tight
with the embrace of that lover,
returned home after a long absence.

A few days later, sitting in the faculty lounge,
I'll boast to a friend - a professor and a librarian,
as well as a philosopher and fellow poet
but above all, my main competition
in a serious contest -
Who could do Wolf Creek - the Best!

"Did the entire pass averaging 50 miles an hour,"
I'd say casually.
He'd flung his coffee cup down with a sound
like a gauntlet being flung!
"Prove it!"
So I did.

Looked him straight in the eye,
took a long drag on my cigarette and said
"Let's go!"
A couple of college teachers cutting class
on a warm spring day,
leaving behind our students like shadows
in empty classrooms.

My friend had given me the music for Wolf Creek -
Jean Luc Ponte’s incredible jazz violin
It happened to be in my cassette deck
the day I drove the Wolf Creek Invitational.
I hope in return, I gave him good company,
talking poetry and the philosophy of road advisories -
A couple of kids dragging the main strip,
Highway 160 between Pagosa Springs and South Fork
showing off how well WE BELONGED there,
turning a little Subaru
into a living thing
that danced through the mountains.

The real kids behind us
were going back to the city in search of better things.
We'd already found them,
topping the summit of that pass -
Wolf Creek!
Elevation: ten thousand, eight hundred and sixty feet.
Chain law
no longer
in effect!