The Drive

At first glance the road smelt like roses. Cynthia's' blouse settled by Jerry's' magazines in the old ford as the clutch burned and the car spun around the corner. Soon they would realize the swell smell was a travesty. Amos Mclain settled the town Points View in 1834, nestled on the highest hill for miles, his ancestor Perry Mclain sold Jerry the car a few years back. It was Perry's nohow that closed the deal. Perry always laughed saying, "I could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves." Cynthia had gotten Jerry to go on the trip. Her sister lived across the Cascades. Jerry wouldn't have gone if not for the drive, he hated relatives, his, hers, the whole business was a bust. Rockpoint was a busy tourist destination in June too, especially with the local bicycle race. Another turn, his father had always taught Jerry good; slow into it beforehand, speed up as she breaks. But this time Jerry didn't listen to the lesson, or he was preoccupied. His hand rubbed Cynthias inner thigh and he saw the bicyclist at the worst moment. The car smashed through the side rail right off the side of the mountain. It was a bright day and the biker was far from anywhere. He had always loved a good ride.