Leon Saves Our Lives

Leon To The Rescue

In my part of the Central Tablelands of NSW, it snows a few times every year between June and August.

Not the seriously deep snow that falls in the Snowy Mountains and stays around all winter.

But light snow that when falling, has the unmistakable stillness, calmness and magical qualities that I remember from my life above the Mason Dixon Line on the east coast of America.

Except that my snow doesn’t last more than a hour or two.

From 2001 to 2008, on the first Saturday of every month, Victor and I made the journey from Ilford NSW to Mosman NSW, an affluent suburb on the beautiful north shore of Sydney, to exhibit our products at the Mosman Arts and Craft Fair.

It was always an epic journey.

We packed the car on Friday afernoon with all our exhibition equipment and products. Then made an often failed attempt to be in bed by 7pm so we could be up again at midnight to prepare for our 3am start.

We live in a thirty year old modest farmhouse with one bathroom.

At midnight, unlike Cinderella, we’re still pumpkins making every effort to chit chat, drink coffee and do things for at least an hour to shake ourselves awake.

At 1am sharp, we take turns in the single bathroom to shower and get ready.

At 2:45am, Victor would take our trio of dogs to his mother’s house, who lives on our property but in her own house, for her to dogsit until we get back.

At 3am we drive out the gate to start our journey to Mosman, close to 4 hours away.

98% of the time, the journey is uneventful.

Kangaroos, wombats, foxes, feral goats and cats, wallabies, et al, who leap out in front of us, attracted by the lights of the car, are a normal part of the wee hours in the morning journey on country roads. And to be expected.

I was always the first to drive.

I actually like the drive through the winding roads in the solitude of early morning before dawn breaks.

The tyres of the car make a special sound of their own when the road is quiet.

But I also looked forward to handing over the wheel to Victor when we exchanged seats outside Lithgow, about 1½ hours into the journey. I could relax and get some much needed shut eye.

One Saturday in July, as Victor was just settling into his stint behind the wheel, a huge mist surrounds us and within the blink of an eye, one of the biggest snow storms I’ve ever witnessed drops its heavily laden flakes all over our car and the road.

Just as we’re ascending Mount Victoria, one of the steepest, most dangerous mountain ascents in NSW.

Not only steep, but hairpin bends, and worst of all, slippery as ice under our wheels with no snow tyres or chains.

And down near the bottom where we are, there’s little opportunity to pull over and off the road.

One or two four wheel drives pass us by, which gives us false encouragement to keep going up.

And I mean FALSE.

5 minutes into this storm and we know we’re in trouble.

Victor sees an opportunity just ahead to pull over onto the shoulder and makes the decision to pull off the road.

But in that split second, we hit an ice patch, do a 90 degree turn, slide across the road and into a gully on the other side. And stop just millimetres before we hit the side of the mountain wall.

And find ourselves on the WRONG side of a BLIND bend for traffic coming down the mountain. We are completely hidden from view from descending traffic. The only time a driver could possibly see us is in the nano second they round the bend and crash into our rear end.

Thank heavens for mobile phones.

And good karma.

We ring the NRMA who reassures us help is just minutes away.

But in the meantime, they instruct us to turn on all blinkers.

Which we do.

And to leave the car.

Which we decide not to do.

Because.

By this time the storm is more intense and the road is ever so more slippery.

There is also an increase in traffic because by now it’s 5am and people are on their way to work to start their shift somewhere further up the mountain and beyond.

As pedestrians, we could just as easily get hit on two feet trying to find safety as we could get hit by an oncoming car sitting in our stationary car.

Within minutes, we see blinking lights coming down the mountain.

Moving very slowly.

I compulsively say to Victor, in what I think was a calm voice, “That’s the NRMA coming to save our lives”.

And indeed it is.

A van pulls up beside us, a lean figure gets out and taps on Victor’s window, and the smiling and ever so chirpy twenty-something Leon tells us not to worry, he’s come to help.

And indeed he does.

He first helps us get up and out of the embankment. He just happens to have wooden planks in the back of his van to enable us to do this without slipping and sliding.

And to our utter dismay and pleasure, discover there’s no damage to the front of the car.

Then Victor slowly turns the car around so we’re pointing towards the other side of the road.

Leon wants us to drive across the road and pull up into the shoulder on the other side. Then he’ll tow us through the snow to the top of the mountain.

In a sudden frenzy of terror, I ask how we’ll do that without being killed by cars coming up and down the mountain who have no option other than to crash into us.

Because, says Leon, The NRMA alerted Lithgow police of our plight and there are police at the top of the mountain stopping all cars and trucks descending the mountain until they see we’re safe and sound.

And police are at the bottom of the mountain doing the same with ascending traffic until they hear we’re out of harms way.

It was then I realised that not one car or truck has passed us going up or coming down the mountain since shortly after we rang the NRMA.

Our attempts to cross the snow laden road in still falling heavy snow are unsuccessful. All we do is slip and slide.

Leon, not to be deterred, goes into the back of his van and brings out a giant broom.

This is the drill.

Leon will sweep a small portion of the road, quickly lay wooden planks down, get out of the way and Victor’s to quickly cross the planks and go as far as he can without slipping.

And Leon will repeat this as often as necessary until we safely cross a four lane highway.

Which we do.

Once on the other side, Leon hooks us up to his NRMA van and slowly tows us up the mountain.

As soon as we reach the top, I’m amazed to see how long the line is of cars waiting for us to arrive safely so they can continue their journey.

First in line is a big semi-trailer.

The story is the police caught him and pulled him over micro-seconds before he started to make his way down the mountain.

And I don’t want to think any further beyond that point.

What’s so heart warming about this story is the blinking of headlights and the sounding of car horns when we arrive at the top, safe and sound behind Leon.

It was like winning the Bathurst 1000.

At the top of Mount Victoria is a nicely placed all in one Caltex station, complete with coffee shop and rest rooms.

When we go inside with Leon, all the patrons know who we are and let us know how glad they are that all is now well.

And coffee is on the house.

And twenty-something Leon?

How do you thank someone like Leon?

A hug and cuddle from me and a grateful handshake from Victor seems hardly enough.

I ask him to wait a minute and go back to our car, open up a box and pick out a Fitz Like A Glove™ Ironing Board Cover. I sheepishly hand it to him and explain to him that words are not enough to show our gratitude. And perhaps every time he or his wife irons, he will be reminded that we will NEVER forget Leon.

Leon’s ingenuity, resourcefulness and ability to think on his very cold but nimble feet makes him a most accomplished Guerrilla From The Bush.

And one I’m so glad to have had enter my life.

Take care,

Carol