Extreme Fucking Teen
A car pulled into my building’s lot. I couldn’t make out the
driver, but there were a pair of skis strapped to the back so I guessed
it was Susan and stepped out the door carrying my skis and boots.
“Bob?” she asked, opening the car door. It was Susan. “Give me
the skis, I’ll strap them on while you dump your boots in the back seat.”
A minute or so later, we were on our way.
“Breakfast in Idaho Springs?” she asked as she pulled onto US 6.
“OK,” I said, trying to make out what she looked like by the light
of passing streetlights. “Are you sure you want to take the Clear Creek
Canyon road and not Interstate 70?”
US 6 up Cleer Creek Canyon is one of the most threatening drives
I’ve ever taken, a winding upgrade with a cliff on one side, the creek on
the other, and no good places to pull out and pass for almost 50 miles.
As she drove on, I slowly gained confidence. She did seem to know the
road, and it was early enough in the morning that there wasn’t enough
traffic to make problems for us.