Highway 11 on the Kona coast is extremely narrow there. The mountain rises up on the one side and drops off steeply on the other side of the two-lane road. Yet just beyond The Coffee Shack there was a narrow pull-off on the narrow shoulder where two cares were parked. Evidently this was the overflow lot.
“Pull over here,” Trudy said, pointing to a space in front of the second car — a narrow triangular space barely long enough and barely wide enough for a car to fit. Perhaps she thought her husband would just whip their rental Jeep over and pull into that tiny spot. Or maybe she thought he’d back into it.
Right.
His first day of driving that Jeep, and he was going to parallel park along the edge of a precipice 1400 feet up the summit of a volcano with a vertical drop awaiting any tire that strays just a bit to far?
He passed the spot and found a place further down where he could pull off the road on the other side, the mountain side, of the road. And they walked the quarter mile or so back to The Coffee Shack and ate sandwiches and drank Kona coffee as the gazed out the windows down the steep slopes of the mountain out toward the ocean.
