By the time we pulled onto the 55 the morning heat was already dancing watery mirages on the asphalt off towards the horizon. Caroline perked up immediately, stirring in the passenger seat of our purloined transportation. Not many people know there's a ley line right along the 55 between a burial mound just North of Boyle and a sacrificial sight about twenty miles South of Egremont, before teh 55 turns into the 28 and heads into Edmonton.
There are a lot of things most people don't know, or they don't know the whole of in any case. If you ask me, good Mr. Carroll should have kept his mouth shut. What happens in Wonderland stays in Wonderland. At least, it should. It used to.
Caroline, now that we were fully in the midst of the ley line, sat bolt upright, "Harlan!"
"Shh, shh, s'okay, darlin'. I knocked some sense into, or maybe out o' them cards. We're making good time away from 'em now."
"Yes, but Harlan..."
"S'okay, I understand, an' don't sweat it. If you hadn't blasted the jabberwocky I'm not sure I'd still be breathin'."
"Darlin', don't fret. We're on a ley line, so you'll be right as rain in..."
Finally she screamed, pointing out the front of the cab, out where my attention had been neglecting, "Harlan, look!" I'd been on autopilot, just driving. No big obstruction, no big problem. I hadn't been watching, really watching. I hadn't seen the mirages.
By the time I looked up, we were in the thick of a wavering mirage. The gears locked up, and brakes engaged, but it was too late. The beautiful Canadian summer vista fled into the haze, and we came to a skidding, screeching halt, half jack-knifing the semi on a giant chessboard.
Funny thing about ley lines, they have multiple uses. And like it or not, we were back.
Back in Wonderland.