SOUTH on Sunday
Behind the wheel rounding curve after curve, alternating between aggressive and defensive, I often consider all of the places I’m not seeing along the way. Places via steep and narrow roads that don’t particularly look like roads, not like roads on the mainland anyway. Looking over my shoulder for even a second while driving tempts the possibility of collision or free falling over the edge of the shoulder-less highway into someone’s uncle’s coffee farm, not likely to be found for a while or ever.
But on Sundays Mark drives. We hop in Old Man Gold, a trusty 2003 Tacoma with a cute lift, matte black rims and rugged tires brought all the way from Montana. (The rig fits right in but we don’t; when it’s all said and done here we’ll take the money and run.) Like a Labrador, minus a big pink tongue hanging out of my mouth, I take in the day from the open window with an appetite for everything.
Speaking of dogs, now that ours are gone, as sad as it is, we are now free and easy to go about life without being on high alert due to under-exercised, overheated, dehydrated, carsick, generally miserable four-legged friends. If you or anyone you know is considering bringing their beloved pet to Hawaii, take the advice that we didn’t: Opt for an electronic dog instead.
The turn off for a place called Miloli’i caught our attention, but just like that it was the backside of a sign in our rearview mirror. We’d been on the road for about forty minutes, cruising south on Highway 11, and the time felt right to pull a U-y and see what we might see.