The monsoon gale was relentless, tearing apart the redwood trees that dotted the sweeping curves of Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. Traffic was minimal, with only a few drivers braving the hundred-year storm that assailed the Santa Cruz Mountains that day.

Mount Herman Road

The storm was brutal. John Nord squinted through the moving windshield wipers; his brows drawn with tension. The visibility was close to zero. He was clenching his jaw, angry at how the wipers were not quick enough, even at their fastest.

The rain came down in sheets, thundering on the roof of John’s faded blue Taurus Wagon. His car swerved on the deserted but slick curves of the road, the winding asphalt reflecting the wagon’s headlights at him. The midday sky was heavy with dark clouds, the torrential rain blinding every driver on the road.

The world beyond the shelter of John’s car was pure chaos. The noise of the storm hemorrhaging through the car’s windows. Even though the windows muffled the sound, John was fully aware of the creaking as the redwoods bent under the pressure of the wind.

Felton Empire Grade Curve

The roadbed spiraled around consecutive two hundred and seventy degree turns while clawing another one hundred feet of altitude; sheets of rain pelted the road and hillside.

The wind whipped redwoods side to side, and the raging gale edged up in pitch and fury. Massive trees groaned in protest. Branches snapped in the wind, the redwood needles adding to the hell that poured down the Felton Empire Road curve.

The sound of heavy wind in an evergreen forest had its own fierceness. The high-pitched growl of trillions of needles scratching the air mixed with the guttural low-frequency strain of heavy timber, stretching to survive, foretold doom. A large branch slashed across the road and down the cliff along the side of Felton-Empire Grade.

The roadway rose two thousand tortuous feet from the foot of the grade. Hurricane-force winds lashed and moaned from the forest above the pavement as it twistingly ascended through a nasty corner. No one should be out driving, but John had no choice.

Mount Herman Road

“This is Santa Cruz classic rock. It is a wonderful day to stay indoors with another classic from Yes, Owner of a Lonely Heart.

The DJ’s voice crackled through the radio. The song’s instrumental began to bleed through the speakers of John’s car. The riff of the electric guitars was easy to hear, even over the noise of the heavy rain. The blue wagon sped away from the Highway 17 exit. Mount Herman Road wedged itself between the competing strip malls of Scotts Valley. John ignored the discordant symphony of horns behind him, protesting his driving.

John focused on another vehicle that zoomed in and out of the midday traffic ahead of him. The black sedan he followed sped past cars on the four-lane highway, snaking through the rush of traffic as John stepped on the accelerator in anxious pursuit.

The DJ’s voice broke into the song’s flow.

“Folks, we have a breaking story. A national weather alert for the Santa Cruz Mountains, torrential rain for the next six hours, and a landslide warning. Back to Yes.”

“Move yourself,” the singer belted.

John’s eyes darted to the signboard above, making a mental note of how soon Mount Herman Road would leave Scotts Valley behind. The sedan sped forward smoothly, unaffected by the torrential rain. John’s faded blue wagon whizzed past five more cars, jumping ahead of traffic before the stoplight turned green.

The road began to narrow as the chase continued, the four lanes shrinking to one going uphill. John scanned ahead for the sedan, squinting through the downpour.

He spotted the dark sedan pulling past a fuel tanker truck beginning its slow ascent uphill. John gritted his teeth in frustration, staring at the sedan fast disappearing in the rain.

“Never thinking of the future. Prove yourself,” the song continued.

In his rush to catch up with the sedan, John almost missed the tanker changing lanes. He winced at the wrenching sound of metal against metal. The scrape was a sickening contrast to the rock song. Still, his car sped forward. John straightened up in his seat checking the damage his wagon had sustained.

The hauler had clipped the Taurus, taking the right turn signal with it. John veered right, narrowly escaping a collision with an oncoming logging truck. As he returned to his lane, the logger angrily sounded his air horn. The headlights behind him were blinding, the truck’s beam set high.

“You are the move you make.
Take your chances, win, or lose.
See yourself. You are the steps you take.
You and you, and that’s the only way.”

The downpour got heavier as the road narrowed. The wind and rain had increased to hurricane strength. Branches snapped, and mud oozed over the road. Sludge began covering the inside lane as the howling wind increased.

Inside the Taurus, John, a rough handsome man in his thirties, ran a hand through his blonde hair, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled. His gaze darted frantically to the mirrors, checking his position on the hill. His heart still thundered from the near-death experience of almost totaling his wagon into a logging truck. He was feeling the strain of the high-speed chase.

John sped after the dark sedan. It was the only thing he could do. His hand fell for his phone as he kept his gaze on the road, glancing down in time to see that it would not turn on no matter how many times he pressed the button on the side.

“Shake…”

The car veered sideways again as John’s eyes darted around for the car phone charger. The charger he kept on the dashboard slid off onto the passenger side floor, out of reach.

John grunted, annoyed. The charger thumped against the soft makeup case his fiancée had kept there. He glanced down to see a nail file and cuticle clippers peeking out from the case. The passenger side was a mess of clutter, as if the woman who sat there would return any moment, gather her things, and pass John a smile and a wave as she headed off to work.

A Sutter Healthcare security pass slid out from her purse on the floor beside the case. John’s throat tightened at the sight of the face staring back at him from the badge.

The sound of the truck horn faded into the downpour. John swallowed sharply, dropping the phone in his lap while pressing down on the gas, willing his car to speed up.

“Shake yourself…”

The rain hammered down on his windshield. John turned up the wipers’ speed, clearing the windshield for a millisecond before the view returned to a blur of rain and the heavy wind. The redwoods bent whichever way the wind pleased, and the thunderous crackle of smaller trees falling and branches snapping leaked into the safe shell of John’s car.

The redwood trees moaned as the rain blew sideways, cracking as nature continued its violent assault. Muddy rivulets trailed down into the roadway.

“You’re every move you make.
So, the story goes, owner of a lonely heart.”

The narrow path had turned into a steep incline. As John urged his car up the slope, the faded Taurus battled against the wind and rain. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles white as his jaw ached, his fiancée’s face flashing before his eyes.

He had to make it.

“Owner of a broken heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.”

John let out a heavy breath as his faithful Taurus pulled through. The windshield cleared again momentarily, and John’s eyes widened at the sharp curve ahead. The slick roadways would make it impossible to make it through in one piece. John clenched his jaw, determined as he turned the wheel, whispering a silent prayer as he felt the rear wheels slide on the turn slewing off the road entirely for a moment.

John held his breath, his heart stammering as the wheels floundered, barely staying on the road as he entered the town of Felton.

“You’ve been hurt so before; watch it now.
The eagle in the sky.
How he dancin’ one and only, you, lose yourself.
No, not for pity’s sake; there’s no real reason to be lonely.
Be yourself.”

The blue wagon slid to a rolling stop at Gramhill Road as he caught his breath. The chase had started taking a toll on him, but it was up to him. John’s head whipped toward the right, gaze zeroing in on his target. The dark sedan was speeding away, unaffected by the storm. John stepped on the gas, shaking his head, his car rocketing away in pursuit.

“Give your free will a chance.
You’ve got to want to succeed—owner of a lonely heart.”

The blue wagon crossed Highway 9 onto Felton Empire Grade at a breakneck speed. The car veered left and right; John was understeering to get his vehicle under control. John caught his breath as his car straightened. He felt the tension in his shoulders, the steady ache that increased with every passing moment. A battered green pickup truck on Highway 9 spun out of control at the light. Most drivers were pulling their cars onto the side of the road at awkward angles, not wanting to drive in blinding dangerous conditions.

John slammed his fist on the steering wheel, willing the car’s exhausted, faded, battered remnants to push its limits for one more charge. He fought to steer left, the road both turning and rising as it curved uphill and steepened. John felt like he may as well have been chasing that sedan on foot. Steering the distressed Taurus was no less than a marathon.

The faithful wagon journeyed onward, the song’s chorus continuing as the trees on either side had started to canopy the road John was on, supplying a temporary respite from the assaulting rain. John exhaled; his relief was short-lived as he took in the approaching hairpin curve.

“After my own indecision, they confused me so.
Owner of a lonely heart.
My love said never question your will at all.
In the end, you’ve got to go.”

The rock song continued as John sped forward. No turn could scare him enough to stop his pursuit. Just then, a giant redwood branch fell onto the road. Spotting it in time, John avoided it, but the road ahead now seemed impassable. The wind whipped branches off strong redwood trees and laid them out crossways on the road. But John refused to slow down. He pushed the Taurus to its last limits, sweat beading on his forehead.

John muttered a silent curse as a branch landed heavily on the roof of his car.

Up ahead was a sharp turn that veered left, then right, with fifteen miles an hour posted.

“Look before you leap—owner of a lonely heart.br>And don’t you hesitate at all – no, no.”

As the song faded into a guitar solo, John stared at his next challenge: the hairpin corner.

The roadway snaked through a series of turns. The rain softened the shoulder of the mountain opened to a ravine below. He steered a centerline through the extreme right hairpin as the pavement descended into the Redwoods. The water poured down the hillside in torrents that became gushing creeks.

John Nord nodded to himself, determined. He slammed his foot down on the pedal as the dark sedan sped seamlessly toward the turn, disappearing around the turn raising wakes of road water.

“Owner of a lonely heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.
Much better than a
Owner of a broken heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.”

The road straightened slightly out into rhythmic curves. The wagon strained against the weather, the rasping sounds from the engine a sure sign of the price the chase cost the wagon. The straining engine mirrored John’s mental state, the faded Taurus manifesting the intensity of its driver’s panic, fear, and determination.

John floored it. The chorus of the song repeated, inching toward the end.

“Sooner or later, each conclusion,
Will decide the lonely heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.
It will excite; it will delight.”

The song faded into silence as John approached another yellow fifteen-mile-per-hour sign leaning to the left. The storm bent the pole planted into the ground. The road spiraling up to the left, the slick road ahead had large cracks across the surface, promising him a harrowing experience.

“It will give a better start.
Owner of a lonely heart.”

The music faded, John’s panic winning out as he braked hard for the hairpin turn. The wagon dropped into the large crack in the road, jerking his body as the sun visor popped down. John felt the jolt run through him, his head slamming back against the headrest.

“Don’t deceive your free will at all.
Don’t deceive your free will—owner of a lonely heart.
Don’t deceive your free will at all,
Just receive it—“

John sighed, gritting his teeth, reaching over, switching off the radio.

The blue wagon drifted through the hairpin curve and raced around the sweeping blind turn as the rain saturated hillside mud slipped down into the valley. The dark sedan disappeared while John, caught in the unforgiving road collapse, slid into the abyss.

In defeat, John pounded the steering wheel.

“And I thought I had it made.

***

Excerpt from MILD MANNERED MEN by Walter Horsting. Copyright 2025 by Walter Horsting. Reproduced with permission from Walter Horsting. All rights reserved.