The Fork in the Road

The Land Rover stops at a fork in the road.  Ian looks at his map.  The map does not show a fork in the road; it shows a straight line — like a chopstick. There are no road signs and no one to ask for directions.  Which way should he go? 

“I’m going to get out and examine the road for clues,” Ian says to Marcelle. 

Today is their first day driving solo through the African bush. Their rented Land Rover has a pop-up roof tent, a small refrigerator, and a shovel for digging fire pits. They do not have a satellite phone, a rifle or experience, though Ian has perused some "How to" books.

Marcelle eyes the dense shrubbery that surrounds the fork in the road. “I’ll stay in the car and look out for lions,” she says. The car windows are open and the air outside feels hot, like it has come out of a public restroom hand dryer.  She watches Ian disappear down one side of the fork, then the other. When he climbs back in the car, he reports: “The left fork runs into deep water and the right fork is muddy.  I think we should take the right fork through the mud.” 

 “The lady who rented us the Land Rover said to stay away from mud,” says Marcelle.

“The water on the left fork looks really deep.  I don’t think we can drive through it.”

Marcelle thinks about this.  She thinks about the crocodiles that could be lurking in the deep water to the left.  “Okay, let’s drive through the mud.”

Ian drives down the right fork into the brown sludge.  

This is not so bad, Marcelle thinks. This was the right decision.  Then the Land Rover stops moving while the wheels keep spinning … and spinning. 

 “The rental lady said not to spin the wheels if we get stuck in mud,” Marcelle says.

Ian stops spinning the wheels and turns off the engine.  He gets out of the car.  Marcelle looks around for lions, then gets out.  Her shoes squish in the sticky muck.  She peeks under the Land Rover to see how deep it has sunk.  The belly of the car rests on the ground.  This was a very bad decision. 

Ian picks up a stick and digs mud away from the tires.  But the slippery gloop slides back in the hole.  

“Why don’t we use the jack to lift the car out of the mud?” asks Marcelle.

“Great idea!” But when Ian tries the jack, it sinks in the mud.  “We need a flat rock for the jack to stand on.”  

Marcelle doesn’t see any flat rocks.  If she did, she wouldn’t pick it up because there might be scorpions underneath.  “Why don’t we use our frying pan?” 

“Another great idea!” Ian says, opening the back of the Land Rover.  “While I jack up the car, you walk back to the fork in the road and see if you can stop somebody to help us.”

Marcelle does not like the idea of walking away from the safety of the car.  But she dislikes even more the idea of being stuck in the mud all night — even for days. She walks back to the fork in the road and makes a mental list of what to do if the Land Rover stays stuck:

1.     Hitch a ride back to the city. 

2.     Hire a helicopter to airlift the Land Rover out of the mud.

3.     Abandon vacation and fly home.

4. Never let Ian talk her into something this crazy again.

A car appears and she waves her arms. The British couple inside agrees to help. They tie a rope from their car to the Land Rover and tug. The Land Rover doesn’t budge. They tug from the other side. The Land Rover rises out of the mud, then plunges back again.  The wheels whir; the engines strain; the mud splatters. 

A bunch of South Africans pile out of another car, stand in front of the Land Rover taking smiling photos. A camper stops and a couple Australians emerge.  The husband shouts instructions at Ian while the wife passes out snacks. The Land Rover stays stuck. The sun casts the long shadows of late afternoon. The lions will be hunting soon. 

A grinding noise arises from the shrubbery and a large truck appears, carrying a load of African men with picks and shovels.  They bounce to a stop and climb out.  One of them brings a heavy chain from the truck, hooks it to the bumper of the Land Rover.  The truck heaves forward and the Land Rover pops out of the mud with a great sucking noise. 

Everyone cheers and shakes hands with the African rescuers.  Ian and Marcelle climb into the mud-spackled Land Rover and head back to the fork in the road. “I’m sorry I wasted our day by getting stuck in the mud,” Ian says. 

He follows the other cars down the left fork and through the deep water, which laps at the edge of the Land Rover’s hood. 

 “I can see why you didn’t want to drive through this,” Marcelle says.

Ahead, the other cars make a sudden swerve off the road and sit idling. 

“What are they doing?” asks Ian. 

“There!” points Marcelle. 

On the side of a hillock, a cheetah stretches as it wakes from an afternoon nap. Its spotted fur hugs its sleek muscles as it squints into the orange glow of the sunset, contemplating the night's hunt ahead of it.  

 “It’s beautiful,” Marcelle breathes.  “If we hadn’t been stuck in the mud all afternoon, we wouldn’t have seen this.”  She squeezes Ian’s hand. Driving into the mud had been the right decision after all.  

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