My old white van felt like a rocket with the addition of a heavy u-haul trailer that held the better part of our worldly belongings, that now seemed to be pushing me toward the steep mountain cliff off to my right. I had pushed the brake just once, let off and when my foot pushed down a second time, expecting to feel the safe resistance of the pedal, there was none, it went to the floorboard. I held tight to the wheel, my 10 year old daughter, Mariah buckled in the passenger seat next to me, looked at me and said, “It's okay, mama.” I had only moments to make the shot into a runaway truck lane. We came to a stop in a cloud of dust, hundreds of miles from anywhere. I turned the ignition off and I wept and I wept. It had been a close call, the kids were nervously laughing but I knew how close we had come to losing our lives. What I didn’t know was that moment, on those mountains so many years ago would follow me for years, in fact it had followed me to the base of the beautiful Coronado