Fiddler Road

What is a bit of a tourist? You drive up or down this road occasionally? Fiddler Road?  You don’t know anything about this road? This tiny road? This one?

What is a hill or a steep downslope to a Lamborghini? You’ve got good tires and excellent brakes. Break it out like an Italian. Put it in the basement and boot it. Stop.

You have to make it up because it’s short. It’s a short road. Oh, it’s short. It’s up and down. It’s a short road. Very short. Dwarfed by the size and length of some roads. A road’s what you make it. Maybe that’s how you make it. Time out.

There’s tall timber here. Impressive tall timber. Timber that dwarfs and, without a doubt, you feel small.  Stop making sense. There’s a feeling that you should be humble or something or scared, maybe. Feeling small here. So tall. So Fiddler. So road. So Fiddler Road.

If you haven’t been to Fiddler’s Cove you’d have no clue why the road has the name it does. This is where it gets complicated. Some anarchists believe there’s no connection between the names of the cove and the road.  No one wants to talk about the Apostrophe War either, but it’s real. It’s all around us like the air we breathe.

It’s being fought between those who want to add an ” ’s” to the “Fiddler” in “Fiddler Road” and those who don’t. And then some maps have “Fiddler’s Road” and “Fiddler’s Cove” or Fiddler Road and Fiddler Cove.  And some have neither but something else again, like “Fiddler’s Road” and “Fiddler Cove.”

Well fiddle-dee-dee, I say. If you need a map around here you’ll never get anywhere. Some of these maps are on supposed real estate experts’ sites. It’s painful to watch. There goes a couple more apostrophes. Spelling and punctuation can get complicated. Like human relationships.

A couple of new roads have been punched in west off Fiddler Road. I wonder what they do in there. A large black pick-up rose up past me on the hill as I was walking down and churned off bouncing into the dark forest that way. I waved. I couldn’t see through the tinted windows if anyone waved back but I’m sure they did.

Not everybody waves over here but a lot do. Those who don’t  just aren’t in on the joke yet. With time they’ll grasp the hilarity and join in. Resistance is futile. You’re stuck on an island. Eventually, no matter how long it takes, everyone waves.

Coming back up Fiddler Road you know what’s going to happen. After the steep part it starts to level off and by the time it’s flat it’s over. That is the whole massive expanse of Fiddler Road right there. Wow.  What a journey we’ve had ourselves here this afternoon.

I’m not sorry to see little evidence of the logging show that was going in west of Fiddler Road. Or supposed to be going in or was going in, or maybe, possibly may not be going in. Logging’s a part of the island.  I’ve logged but not here and not recently. It’s rough, serious work and if we need the wood there it is. But all that noise and sawdust. It’s a way of life and can be good if you don’t weaken. I forget the rest.

Almost there? Where? Back on top at the junction, friends. Fiddler Road and the obscurely named Cliffside Road. Stagger back in a death march stumble. Then we’re getting out. Catching a bomber. It’s been eight weeks and they’re saying I have to take my week off but I could stay here forever.