‘It goes without saying that one should do their best to ignore signs about ‘The Ramp.’ It isn’t easy, though. The signs are frequent and large and sometimes illuminated. Sometimes they move, a goading cowboy’s arm pointing the way or waggling his finger, warning you not to try the ramp and somehow daring you to try it in the process.
‘It wouldn’t be smart to try THE RAMP,’ the signs say, ‘No matter how cool it seems like it would be.’
‘Nobody has survived taking THE RAMP. Maybe you could- but probably not. Maybe, though. Nothing is impossible.’
‘Warning! THE RAMP’s gate is under repair. The entrance is open and free. This does not mean you should attempt to take THE RAMP, but nothing would stop you if you tried…’
‘THE RAMP is not for cowards. Are you a coward? Then do not take THE RAMP.’
‘The Ramp’ exists on a southern stretch of highway in Michigan. This will not be the book that tells you exactly where. It’s easy enough to find without invoking that sort of liability. ‘The Ramp’ appears well-made and seasonally maintained, constructed of rebar and concrete and silky smooth asphalt. The entrance slopes gently, at first, and ends with a steep little flourish. There is that deadly gap before the downward ramp rises from the other side to catch the would-be driver. It all seems reasonable from the road, as though any vehicle could cover the distance. As though any competent driver could leave ‘The Ramp’ with a rattled suspension and a story to tell their grandchildren.
No driver has yet claimed that story. Maybe you could- but probably not.
Maybe, though.
Nothing is impossible.
(entry sponsored by THE RAMP)
-an excerpt, Autumn by the Wayside
