As a sidebar to this topic, my most vivid memory of the ear-popping descent down the backside of Going-To-The-Sun Highway occurred when Carla and I visited Glacier National Park back in the late 1980s. I noticed with some element of mirth that there was the distinctive, acrid smell of burning brakes when the two of us finally reached the bottom of the steep mountain passageway and then, after peering around me on the roadway in an effort to spot the guileless, dumb-shit offender…..suddenly realized with horror that the malodor was coming from MY vehicle at the time. I nearly shit my pants coincident with this unsavory discovery, but a long rest to allow the automobile’s brakes to cool down followed by a more sensible, gear-shifting strategy on the westbound trek won me redemption (I think!) in Carla’s disapproving eyes.
(Excerpted from the upcoming travel saga “North by Northwest”)
Fred's Soapbox 