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The cold Winter

PART ONE

     If I were a world-famous author, given to the spinning of tall tales, the likes of which leave the reader breathless with uncontrollable, rib-dislocating mirth, I would have made the mountain in question a much more menacing beast.  I would have created a peak that disappeared into the clouds and added a narrow and crumbling asphalt path covered in enough layers of ice to make the producers of Frozen swell with pride.  And if, by some miracle granted me by the trucker Gods, I managed to survive the climb to the top of that majestic and formidable creature, the descent down the other side would surely be the end of me.  There would have been jagged rock ledges with yawning, gnashing teeth that nipped and slashed at my soft rubber tires as I manipulated 80,000 pounds of freight into the yawning abyss far, far below.

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