Collins Rhōg

Sedona AZ (October 29, 2014) – The following has been taken from Collins Rhōg’s private journal, and reproduced exactly as it was written, by his own hand. The date has been omitted, at his request, but Collins view is always captivatingly honest, full of depth and color, heart, love, and perseverance in times of struggle. Collins spills his soul and captures his feelings with vivid imagery and heart felt emotion that oozes from the pages of this historic text.

The following is but a portholes view, from across the room of “The Life and Times of Collins Rhōg“:

If you are new to the story, it all begins at this link (click here). In previous weeks, our readers were introduced to Rhog’s story as written in his journal. Join us as we return to the Life and Times of Collins Rhōg, now 38, while he surveys the gates of Hell:

– Cambire, The Story Part 5 –

I had to make it to the emergency lay up point, as quickly as possible. There was safety for me there, if only in an old moonshiner’s cave that I had discovered years ago. I was noticing the pain in my shoulder now, it was bleeding quite well. The Land Cruiser was screaming along at 101 m.p.h. and was a handful to drive at that speed – she was moving much faster than ever engineered to go – and I caught myself thinking about her high center of gravity and less than adequate braking system. There was no time to be cautious now. The hornets nest had been shaken vigorously and the whole swarm was now gunning for me.

After ten minutes of hard driving there was still no sign of my pursuers as I came to an indiscriminate dirt road which veered off to my left. This was my exit. I steered the cruiser off the pavement and onto the dirt road, bombing over the cattle grate at the entrance with my head bobbing like a bobble head doll. My shoulder was bothering me and I knew it needed tending. The blood had run down my arm and covered the shift lever and the floor, the mess looked really awful, and every time I shifted gears, my arm felt even worse as the pain bit down hard.

Checking my rear view mirror I noticed a huge plume of dust, rolling out from under the cruiser like a contrail behind a jet. I had to slow down or I might as well shoot a flair into the air to indicate my position. Dropping gears, I brought the truck down to 18 m.p.h. which seemed like a crawl after cooking along near 100 before hitting the dirt. Even at that speed, she still spilled out a small plume of dust though it evaporated fairly quickly and never reached much height.

“God this is slow going,” I thought while constantly peering behind me.

The road was winding and getting rougher and rougher, with large rocks protruding out of the earth. My 18 m.p.h. dropped to 5 and my small dust cloud completely vanished.

I was gingerly navigating the Land Cruiser through potential tire eaters, as if I were walking barefoot over a rocky path, me having tender feet and all. The ride was uncomfortable and strong arming the wheel over and around rocks didn’t help my shoulder much. Lumbering down the road, I heard the occasional squeal or grind of a rock raking the undercarriage and, every once in awhile, I could feel a rock snag as the truck would hesitate its forward motion, before overcoming the obstacle.

I always drive in 2 wheel drive, saving 4 wheel drive for when and if I get stuck. If one drives in 4 wheel drive and gets stuck, you’re screwed, but if one drives in 2 wheel drive and gets stuck, you can throw her into 4 and punch out of trouble. At this slow speed I once again began to notice the heat radiating up from the floorboards, and sweat began dripping down my face. It felt as if I was in a slow roaster.

“God I hate the heat!” as a salty ribbon trickled into my eye.

I had made good progress and felt a bit safer, but not safe enough to stop. Trying to rip off my shirt while driving, to gain access to my wound, I gave it a good tug with my left hand as all of the  buttons flew off, like grapeshot, ricocheting throughout the cab. In a failed attempt to rip the sleeve free as in the movies, the damn thing held fast. Feeling kinda puny, I removed the shirt as gingerly as possible, exposing the wound to the air. Having taken a hit in the shoulder from behind that had exited out the front and continued through the windscreen, there were two weeping holes to plug up, but no bones had been hit.

I turned and leaned over to open the glove box with my left hand as the Cruiser lurched sideways. The box held a tire gauge and a roll of grey duct tape. Grabbing the tape, I leaned up and caught the wheel to straighten it out as the old truck was going all wonky.

Once back on course, I ripped off some lengths of duct tape with my mouth, sticking each one so it hung off of the dash, waiting to be used. Grabbing my shirt, I wiped down my shoulder, drying it as best as possible, then used the duct tape to cover the bullet holes and kept on driving.

Finding the old creek that had eaten its way down to bedrock and disappeared months ago, laying parched waiting for next spring’s runoff, I turned the Toyota left, upstream. Lumbering along the dry bed for roughly another mile and a half, I came to a cow trail that meandered between several large knolls. Taking a right, I realized that I had always come this way, either on foot or riding a dirt bike, but never in a four wheel drive.

The trail was flanked by an endless hedge of briars which shrieked loudly as their thorns relentlessly scored the sides of the cruiser. I felt the truck’s pain as I punched through the gauntlet. My wounded shoulder started leaking again. It took about half an hour to push through the thicket of thorns before my trail widened out and exposed a clearing between knolls.

Turning left at the clearing, the Toyota dove into a gully which was about 20 feet wide at its lowest point. Reaching the bottom, I was forced to winch a boulder obstructing my course, amid dozens of other large rocks. Once I was well past the boulder, I stopped and snatched it to the cable once more, winching the stone back into place, resealing my route.

The creek bed meandered its way between parched knolls. The steep canyon, deep within the earth, was nearly 50 feet wide and 200 feet deep, with a fairly smooth sandy floor. Pointing the truck down into the canyon, everything in the back slid forward and slammed against the bulkhead.

The bottom of that canyon was breathtaking, shaded from the sun by its sheer walls. Knowing there wasn’t another human around for tens of miles, one felt the immense presence of peace. I drove the Toyota within the canyon until I came to a shelf that sat a good 10 feet off the floor. My cave was up that shelf, I had made it to the ELUP. Stopping the Land Cruiser was extremely emotional, not sobbing boohoo give me a doughnut emotional, but surreal, almost euphoric.

It meant that I was safe and that the extreme intensity surrounding the prior hour and a half was no more. Pulling the keys from the ignition, the four bullet holes in the windscreen gave a striking realization of just how close I’d come to buying the farm.

I felt lucky to be alive and blessed to be at the entrance of the moonshiner’s cave.

–Collins Rhōg

Cambire, The Story continues in the SedonaEye.com.

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