Saturday, September 15, 2012
Her head was pitched back against the driver’s headrest, her jaw slack as the Lexus SUV idled through the intersection. If Jill and I could have seen her eyes, we’d have seen only the whites. No hands appeared on the steering wheel.
“Holy shit,” I said, leaning forward to the windshield. “I think that driver’s unconscious.”
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Friday’s rush-hour traffic has me looking for a path of least resistance. I exit the interstate in favor of surface roads. Driving home toward Fishers, I turn onto Sargent Road -- a shaded route that lazes its way northeast through Marion County.
Settlers first entered the Mud Creek Valley here in 1824. The farmhouse with chipped white paint and a latticed porch still stands where Johnny Sargent's father built it in the 1880s.
Across the road and obscured by overgrowth, a sagging barn guards the entrance to the fallow field where Johnny would fly in with his J-3 Piper Cub in the mid-1950s.