Although the Texas hill country has its fair share of scenery, for the most part, this scenery is contained within barb-wire fences. Unless, of course, one takes the time to experience Big Bend National Park in west Texas. Nevertheless, we’ve all heard the expression: a view to die for, but one could guess that most of us have yet to experience its true meaning.

On a recent early morning drive over to Bandera, the opportunity for that experience was presented to me. Sometimes we are given choices. We, as individuals, have to make the right choice; no one makes them for us.

One of the area's visual landmarks, coming in from Kerrville, is the long descent down into the Bandera creek valley. Coming from that direction, still dark at 6:23 a.m. - it’s funny how the details stick - I’m thinking of huevos rancheros at the little taqueria in town, five minutes away. While behind me, about a quarter mile back, two sets of headlights are following.

Opposite, coming from the south, the descent is much shorter and a much steeper grade. At the top of that descent, rounding a curve at the crest of that hill, with Bandera a mile behind them, a line of headlights approach. An 18-wheeler is in front, leading the pack. With my speed at a reasonably safe 61 mph, I’m judging our passing at the valley floor, near the creek bridge.

Things seem in order when, suddenly, the pick-up truck immediately behind the big rig decides he needs some action. Moving to pass, he enters my lane. Headlights in the dark. In both lanes. On a two-lane blacktop. Room is disappearing. I begin flashing bright lights, to no avail. Still coming head-on, Bubba’s gaining speed and it’s so obvious that he will not safely complete the pass nor will he back off and wait for a safe pass. For those of you who think you might have a lot of time in this situation, really, you don’t. With barely enough time to utter the words “what the fu--,” your life will pass before your eyes.

While your mouth is uttering and muttering, your mind is in rapid-fire mode. Too many thoughts to remember. Bridge guardrails will have us hemmed in. What will the big rig do? Bubba’s still coming, accelerating. It’s funny, there’s a brief moment, a nanosecond, to imagine Bubba in this situation: a front tooth missing, half a can of snuff between his cheek and gum, a gimme cap atop his hollow and square head, on backwards, bloodshot eyes from too much cheap booze the night before and not enough good coffee the next morning, a maniac grin on his face. Emblazoned across the back windshield is a “W’04” sticker.

Did I turn off the coffee pot? A quick glance in the rear view mirror shows Blue’s face, over my right shoulder, lit up from the approaching headlights. Man’s best friend. What are the cars behind me thinking? As this spectacle unfolds, what are the cars behind Bubba thinking? A disaster, of magnificent proportions, is about to occur. Seemingly, no one is braking.

I’m thinking of Colorado, light years ago. All the early mornings spent driving killer 82, working those part-time jobs in Aspen as a cook or waitron, too many dark mornings to count. Snowstorms, black ice, watching for elk - large ghosts from out of nowhere - giving thanks for being first in line behind the snowplows. Cheap tippers, wild parties, good music, bike rides up the pass, wilderness hikes, skiing fresh powder, insanity. Never an accident. But here, right now, this moment, Bubba’s getting ready to change my life. All these thoughts, and so many more, are flashing.

At this point, lines and stripes on the road have disappeared. Gone too are the guardrails and the shoulders of the road. I am getting ready to experience death and now see positive and negative spaces. With a knowing certainty that the big rig and I will sideswipe each other, the main concern is the idiot, still in my lane, still accelerating. Thankful the drought is over, waiting on autumn. The big rig must be inching over. Instinct says move with him; straddling the yellow lines. Still coming, two sets of headlights, blinding. The big rig blows by on my left, Bubba’s ripping by on my right. Three vehicles abreast. Inches apart. Two lanes. Crossing over Bandera creek. White knuckles in hill country darkness.

Now, I lie awake in the middle of most nights. Instead of thinking about the warm and tender body lying beside me, the one I so selfishly believe I deserve, I think about on-coming headlights, in both lanes.

So, whether you're headed down the road to work, to the store, or on that family vacation, take along a bit of chance, preparation, good fortune and good luck.