Crossing the Medina

Spirits were high as we drove down the hill

“Will we make it back up?”, someone asked

Once we got to the bottom, those fears were forgotten

In the riverside sunshine we basked.

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Then came time to leave that riverside heaven

And our minds soon filled with dread

“That hill’s pretty steep!” “This Pilot’s no Jeep!”

“We might need a tow truck instead.”

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The river behind us, a mountain in front

And half of us needed to pee

With his usual grit, Tim backed up, then floored it

But the slope soon stopped our SUV

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“Only one way out”, Paul G. broke the news

And we all knew what he was thinking

As he scouted ahead, across the riverbed

Would we make it across without sinking?

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Paul waved us across, we piled in the car

“Let’s do this”, Tim shouted. “Let’s go!”

White-knuckled grips dug into seat leather

As into the river we rolled

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With the treacherous waves lapping at our rims

Our Honda was an old covered wagon

The steady tire treads gripped the slick riverbed

Live the hooves on a team of four stallions

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Once safely across, and back on the highway

We laughed like a bunch of hyenas

We’d become pioneers, like old wagoneers

The day we crossed the Medina.

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