I left you at the point where the pavement disappeared. We started to question if the road was going to disappear altogether, but that continued, in the form of a gravel road. We had gone that far and survived enough adventures that we figured it was worth continuing. Besides, the little box on the dashboard said this was a road. Must obey the little box.
So the road continued over a slight rolling hill and it reached a point where it certainly did not look like there was any more road ahead, but the GPS said to carry on. The road started withering away into mostly dirt at that point and was largely indistinguishable from the ambient dirt if it were not for the tire tracks. The tire tracks let us know that some humans had driven there at some point. Otherwise there was no sign of human life here. No farmland, no road signs, fences, nothing. Just a dirt road and a GPS that indicated that a road went through this space.
Even my husband had serious questions as to whether or not to press on at this point. I felt that since we had gone this far, we had probably reached the point of no return and needed to press on. "Are you sure there is a road up there?" was his response. I reminded him that he had put his faith in the GPS so far, he was going to have to suffer the consequences of the results now. So we continued on the vague scars on the dirt that comprised a road over this hill. At the bottom of the hill, we finally found signs of human life, just not what we were expecting.
"Oh, look Mitch!" I said to my four year old son. "There's some dump trucks. Your favorite." And there were dump trucks. BIG dump trucks. The kind that one has to climb a flight of stairs to get to the cabin dump trucks. The ones that are so huge that they have to be built on site because they are far too large to be driven on a street.
The kind that are used in mines. Strip mines, generally, and in Central Pennsylvania, this is coal country. And we were driving right towards the entrance of a coal mine.
That @%#ing GPS had just navigated a suburban family in a midsized SUV into a coal mine. A white SUV to be exact. Not that the color should mean that much, but really. It was obvious to all present that we did not belong there. Remember that Garmin commercial where it suggested that a Garmin GPS would prevent the disaster of getting oneself stuck in the middle of a coal mine or other unsavory place? The commercials they show at Christmas where they totally cheapen the Christmas carol in order to sell their product? If you do not, wait a month. It will be back on the TV soon enough. So Garmin, hey! WTF?
That said, there were no "No Trespassing" signs, gates or other markings to say that we could not drive down the road that passed the coal mine, so we kept driving. We had already violated the inner sanctum. We might was well go whole hog and drive right through. Every few feet the constant question of whether or not the road was going to continue on to some sort of paved type state route came up, and surprisingly, the road did continue onwards. The problem was that as we drove on, we came closer and closer to those really big dump trucks that are not allowed on standard roads. We also moved closer to really big front end loaders that could pick up ten of our horrifically bourgeoisie SUV's and dump us into one of those really big dump trucks. If the drivers of those front end loaders knew how much I dislike the coal industry and how supportive I have been of their nemesis, wind farms, some located in clear view of the mine, one of them just might have done that. Probably the scariest part is when one of those really big machines decided it needed to go somewhere else in this barren landscape, it drove out of the mine proper and right past us on the minimally visible dirt path that the GPS sent us down.
"I can't believe you drove us into a d.....arn coal mine!" was stated more than once and had a four year old child not been in the back seat, the commentary would not have been nearly so G-rated. Yes, it was a struggle to censor that commentary. "We're gonna get arrested or killed or something!" My husband's response was basically we ought to just move as quickly as we could but that there were no signs saying that we could not drive on the road so he hoped no one would give us a problem.
My response to anyone who would tell you that there is such a thing as "clean coal" is bull&%#. Coal is not clean and anyone who has ever driven a white SUV through a coal mine can attest to that. Although the ordeal of actually driving past the actual strip mine probably only lasted 5-10 minutes, the coating of black soot that covered the car was amazing. This was not just dirt from driving on a dirt road. That dirt is light brown and hazy. This was pitch black and literally coated the entire car. My husband had to scrub down the rear doors for fear that our four year old would touch it and spread black hand prints on everything in Somerset County. The car looked like it had been passed through a cloud of volcanic ash and the residue rather had the consistency of ash.
Not too much longer after finally clearing the danger of the huge coal mine machines, we actually did get to the road that we were looking for as promised. The GPS did actually get us to the resort without a hitch from that point on.
Our lungs are hopefully not too scarred from the experience and the car was able to be restored to its original color eventually after a thorough scrub down. I am sure the boys at the coal mine got a laugh at their befuddled suburbanite visitors that day. And at least I can say that I can add "driven through a coal strip mine" to my list of interesting experiences, and I am lucky as I have had quite a few. I imagine that if we put our trust into that little brainless box too much in the future, we will probably have more. The problem is I am afraid to find out what.
At least I cannot say "set the cake table at my wedding on fire and had the firemen show up" as one of my direct adventures. I was witness to that event but it was not my wedding. That honor goes to my cousin, who also has a blog on Blogger. I will leave it up to her to choose whether or not she wishes to divulge the details of that little adventure. That's a pretty good one, too.
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