I wrote this for my local newsletter and someone suggested I share it with the
list. I hesitated due to it's length. It's very long so, if for some reason you
feel compelled to reply, please snip the story out for the sake of bandwith.
The Ridge Road
I always loved the winding roads
By the Delaware Water Gap.
Out on the edge of Jersey,
If you're looking on a map.
Open roads and rolling hills,
A driving man's delight,
But those roads, they have their tales to tell,
On dark October nights.
Brewster used to be a racer there,
He fixed our cars to pay his bills.
He had a shop just north of Millbrook,
In those Kitatinny hills.
Mostly he did sportscar work,
And though he no longer raced,
He let us run our hillclimbs
On the ridge behind his place.
He had a lovely daughter, Mary,
Who was nearly twenty-two,
And the boys that tried to win her hand,
They had a job to do.
You see, she'd worked the hillclimb start
Back in nineteen sixty-five:
And as she watched the boys go up the hill,
She knew she had to drive.
So dad taught her a thing or two,
And she drove his old TD,
Now any man that sought her heart,
Would have to drive as brave as she.
So they brought their cars to Brewster's place,
And not just for his skill;
For they always took their one timed run,
Up Kitatinny hill.
Then in October sixty-seven,
A young man came to see her dad.
He had an MG Midget
That was running really bad.
But Brewster turned an expert wrench,
And soon the motor purred,
And the boy began to wonder,
If it was true what he had heard.
He couldn't just come out and ask,
For that would be too rude.
Then Mary asked if he would drive her
"Up to see the view."
So this young man, to be polite,
Offered her an open door,
And fired up his engine,
Like so many had before.
As the beauty slipped in by his side,
His heart was filled with joy,
If he could turn the magic time,
Then he would be the boy.
He popped the clutch, and gravel flew,
He started up the mile.
The old man laughed, and waved good luck,
And shook his head and smiled.
The young lad's foot was to the bulkhead,
As he worked it through the gears,
He braked deep at every corner;
And he showed no trace of fear.
He drifted round a hairpin,
As he pressed on with the race,
And by the look in Mary's eyes,
He knew that he was on the pace.
He drove it even harder,
And his heart was filled with pride.
Perhaps he'd finally be the man
Who took Miss Brewster for a ride.
Then, distracted by her laughter,
He faltered on a shift.
And howling past the redline,
The Midget sailed off the cliff.
The shriek of tires, then the silence,
Filled Brewster full of dread
And when he made it up the hill,
He found his daughter dead.
Mary lay along the roadway
As if stretched out for a nap,
The boy beside his fallen Midget,
On that hill beneath the Gap.
Brewster sat beside the road,
And cried awhile and then,
He drove off in his old TD
And was never seen again.
Time went by, the old place changed,
They proposed to build a dam:
It would have flooded that whole valley,
And covered Brewster's land.
So the towns there, they were closing down,
And the people moved away
And the ridge-road was abandoned,
And so it is today.
In the end, they never built the dam,
And it all became a park.
Yes, they left behind the twisty roads;
But, be careful after dark.
For if you like to drive those hills,
On autumn nights, alone.
Be sure to keep your wits about you,
Be sure to keep to routes well known
For if you turn off by that old garage,
Where the ridge-road now lies still
You might just take your final run
Up Kitatinny hill.
You can smell the Castrol burning,
You can feel the shadows pass;
Above the roaring of your engine,
You can hear a young girl's laugh.
Headlights flicker faintly through the trees,
Like moonlight on the water,
When you join the spirits of the night,
To court the ghost of Brewster's daughter.
Happy Halloween
Phil Vanner
Mk1 Midget
and no sleep at all...
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