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Okay, fine—it’s not technically a mountain. But let me tell you, anyone who’s ever tried to climb our driveway would probably demand sherpas, oxygen tanks, and one of those dramatic summit flags just to make it to the top. When the TRR cottage was under construction, the parade of heavy equipment made it clear that our little hill was not to be underestimated. Watching a well-drilling rig wheeze its way upward was like witnessing a Clydesdale on roller skates. It was equal parts impressive and terrifying. One bold crane driver even decided the only way to win was to back up the entire hill. That’s not just driving skill; that’s a man who’s either fearless or overdue for his next vision check.
And don’t even get me started on the Amazon delivery drivers. Bless their GPS-trusting hearts. Some try to just creep up the hill and stall out halfway, leaving their vans hunched at an angle like a tired mule. Others make it to the top, only to stare in despair as they try to figure out how to do a three-point turnaround in front of the barn. Some (1) Back down in reverse like they’re auditioning for NASCAR-but-backwards, or (2) sit there. I swear they are waiting for divine intervention, probably texting their dispatcher: “Send helicopter. Or rope.”
Now, I’ll admit, there is one category of trucks I actually get giddy about: the gravel trucks. Every few years, our driveway gets its spa day. And when I hear those diesel engines rumbling at the bottom of the hill, my inner child kicks in. Forget toddler with a Tonka toy—I turn into a toddler who just inherited the whole sandbox. Once the truck crests the ridge, the driver tilts that giant bed skyward, and a slow, glorious river of gravel rolls down like manna from heaven. Forget fireworks or parades. Give me a dump truck laying down a new coat of gravel, and I’m clapping like an overstimulated three-year-old.
So if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading out now. Where to? Oh, you already know. I’m going to admire that gravel runway, strut up and down like it’s my personal catwalk, and pretend I just conquered Everest—flip-flops and all.