After leaving Sonora, Arizona and I are on Sonora Pass, cutting through the Sierras to the 395. We stopped at an elevation of roughly 9000 ft. My ears popped at the meerest sight of the peaks crowding the distance. Very little snow lingered from this past season, the consequence of the drought plaguing the region. We pulled over briefly to take in the scene.
We saw a minivan with a crushed windshield. The driver hung his head out of driver’s side window, sunglasses on his face, wind gliding through his thining hair as he carefully drove up from the opposite direction we were traveling.
“I wonder what happened?” I looked at Arizona from behind my camera. We both stared as the mini van went past.
“Possible deer did the damage.” A passing hiker conjectured.
The front end of the vehicle was smashed in, part of the engine popping up like a bloodied jack in the box. Traces of the deer were not apparent with the quick view as it passed. However, it was just assumed. Down the road, as Arizona and I got back in the car, we were curious if we would see the remnants of Bambi’s mom. However instead we were greeted by the Marine Corp Training Facility.
The view captures your breath as you drive down the windy pass. The rocky Sierra Nevada mountains absorb every inch surrounding you. Through the winding roads and the course of wind there lies a straight path past the Marine Corp training facility. Here, our military at arms practice within the cover of nature their tactics and motions, truding through trenches, capturing the flag of the invisible enemy. You can hear shouting sometimes as you drive by coming from the thickness of the woods. Eyes and bodies clad in camo watching your naked ass if you stop to take a piss. Do not stop here! For deer or folks in green!