I was 22 when this happened, and at the time I had that stupid confidence you get when

you've been driving for a few years, and nothing truly bad has happened to you yet.

I wasn't reckless exactly, but I did things I probably wouldn't do now, like taking back roads at night because they shaved

20 minutes off a drive, or letting my phone get down to 10% because I figured I could charge it in the car,

or assuming every weird thing had a normal explanation if I just kept my head. This happened in

Northern Idaho, late October, on a mountain road that cut between two towns.

I'm not going to name the exact road because I still have family up there,

and because there are only so many routes that fit the description.

But if you've ever driven through that part of the country after midnight, you know how

empty it can feel.

The road climbs fast, twists around thick timber,

drops into little valleys, and then climbs again. There are stretches with no houses, no streetlights,

no gas stations, and no cell service. During the day it looks pretty. At night it feels cut off from

the rest of the world.

I had gone to see my older cousin, who lived about three hours from me.

It wasn't supposed to be a late night. I had planned to leave around nine, but we ended up watching a fight, then eating, then talking in his garage because he had just bought a project truck and wanted to show me

everything wrong with it. By the time I actually got in my car, it was almost midnight.

My cousin told me to stay over, and I almost did, but I had work at 10 the next morning,

and I was in that phase where I hated being away from my own bed.

I had a beat-up Honda accord with a cracked bumper, one headlight that was a little dimmer than

the other, and tires that were okay but not great.

I had driven that route plenty of times, though, so I wasn't worried.

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