Camping, smores, and an important lesson about drunk driving

Samuel P. Taylor State park, just north of San Francisco, is packed with huge redwoods. Saturday night we camped at one of the best spots in the campground with some friends, on the bank of a river surrounded by the towering trees. The only downside to the park is that the scenic river that runs past the campsites has a moderately busy road on the opposite bank, just behind a line of trees. You can hear the cars zipping past through most of the evening, but by late night it quiets down. No bother - we had lots of stuff to distract us from the car sounds - We grilled amazing New York strip, had shrimp cocktail, chased away raccoons, and introduced our Australian friends to smores - sticky marshmallow plus Hershey's bar plus graham cracker - yum.

If you're from another country, trying this American favorite for your first time in your late thirties, it's easier to strip away the nostalgia and get right to the food facts. Needs better chocolate...graham crackers break too easily...is messy. Ok, ok agreed. I can't argue with any of that, but I think it's good to try it with the rough basics, now that the first time is out of the way ... next time - high quality dark chocolate, smaller marshmallows, crackers with some backbone. Voila - a much improved snack and happy yuppies truly enjoying the outdoors.

Great food aside, staying up late around the campfire is the real attraction to camping. It was dark by 5:30pm, and we were up until midnight talking and laughing about all the usual stuff - homelessness, high school politics, religion and Survivor. At about 12:10, it was time for the last walk to the restroom, about 100 feet away. Ellen and I were walking down the dark path, flashlight in hand, and were almost to the comfort station when we heard a car across the river. It made the usual rushing sound as it passed, but it abruptly stopped and was followed by a dull slam. We turned to look and across the river, about 200 feet away in the pitch dark, the headlights flew off the road, tipping sideways as the car jumped off the road, down the embankment, crashing through the trees and finally slammed to a stop and went completely dark.

We were in shock as it was happening - like it was in slow motion. I sprinted along the road toward the bridge that crosses the river, and on the other bank of the river found a footpath. I walked about 100 yards through the pitch black with the flickering flashlight. I had no first aid kit, no car, no cell phone reception, and I kept checking down the embankment toward the river to see where this car had landed. Just ahead of me I saw the car - right-side-up in the middle of the footpath, dented, wrapped around a tree, impaled on a fencepost, windshield smashed. It occurred to me that I might not be ready to see what had become of the driver - I wasn't even sure what I was doing there, but realized I was the first person there and might at least call for help somehow. Behind the car I saw someone walking around in the dark - a young guy, trying to climb up the embankment to the main road. It was the driver, completely unharmed, not a scratch - but in total shock. He walked over to me and I looked him over for cuts, checked the top of his head for bleeding - nothing. He reeked of alcohol and that adrenaline sweat smell. I told him to walk out the path with me.

Our friends had also seen it from the campsite and had driven their car over to the crash site to see if they could help. We all looked the driver over in their headlights and confirmed that he had somehow managed to escape any injury at all. We loaded him in the car and drove him home, just five minutes up the road, where his wife was waiting for him. We were up for another couple of hours on pure adrenaline, tossing and turning, making trips to the bathroom, finally falling asleep.

This morning we walked back to the crash site to have a closer look at the wreck. If he had missed the small tuft of saplings that finally stopped his car, he would have tumbled into the river. Later we watched as the tow truck dragged his car up the embankment. The driver was there, too. Would he realize how close he had come to losing it all? Or would he think he was immune to it? Would it all be just a funny story he tells his friends the next time he's up late around a campfire?