Last week, we went to spend the after-holiday weekend north of Eureka and Holiday Island. Due to the throngs of tourists, the horse-drawn carriages were operating, despite the heat.
As we went up the scenic loop before leaving town to go to the cabin, we passed a carriage with 10 or 11 middle-aged women enjoying the ride. They were laughing and rocking the carriage with glee. They were dressed identically and were drawing onlooker’s gazes. The driver was keeping a close eye on them, as a couple of the ladies were holding poorly concealed drinks.
A block up the loop, a water main was leaking, and traffic was backed up. I turned around in a narrow driveway and headed back down.
As I took the next corner, my wife gasped in surprise. Ahead of us, we could see that the carriage had overturned, tossing the ladies out. Several were on the grass. The driver was standing next to the carriage, obviously crying a little and upset.
I pulled up next to him and put down my window.
“Hey, there’s no need to cry, sir!” I told him.
My wife looked at me with horror.
“Why not? This could have been fatal,” he said.
“Maybe. But everyone knows there’s no use crying over spilled milf.”