Techno CultivatorChapter 29 Operation Endless Forest
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Faller’s Forest free porn video
After the divorce, I was unsure of what to do. I had my high-paying job, but without my family, and specifically without my daughter, I found no pleasure in the job. I had made my money already, and still had plenty left even after the divorce (thank goodness for prenuptial agreements), so I did not need to worry about having enough money to survive.
Ever since I was a young child, I had loved auto racing. I would watch avidly, and I had spent plenty of time in the arcades of the 1980s and 1990s playing the racing games. As home gaming consoles became better and better, I eventually bought the Genesis, then the PlayStation, then later the Dreamcast, then the PlayStation2, and ultimately the Xbox – even now, I am contemplating buying the Xbox 360, given my heart condition, these consoles have allowed me to get as close as I likely ever will to truly racing on the world-famous circuits like Road America, Laguna Seca, Spa-Francorchamps, Nürburgring Nordschleife, Surfer’s Paradise, Le Mans, Catalunya, Adelaide, Road Atlanta, Silverstone, Hockenheim, Sebring…
Eventually, through the friend of a friend of a friend, I learned of a ‘watchman’ position at a relatively-unknown road course which was trying to makes its name known amongst the great racing venues in the States. My duties were primarily to keep an eye on the vast venue and ensure that nothing illegal was taking place, and to help to keep the grounds and especially the track itself clean of trash and debris.
I did some research online to learn more about it. Known as Faller’s Forest, it was a circuit nestled in the Allegheny mountains, its three configurations maxing at 2.78 miles of twisting, elevation-changing asphalt. It was without question a very technical circuit, with the only true straightaway being the front straight. The surrounding mountains cast some tremendous shadows, but also created some spectacular views for hikers and campers on the mountains, especially if they used binoculars to watch the action.
The latter point was part of the reason the owners of the race venue wanted to hire a few people to live on the premises at select locations. If there was ever a 24-hour race on the 2.78-mile circuit, I certainly would not be able to sleep given that the small house I accepted less than 100 feet beyond the southernmost point of the raceway.
The first morning in the small house was a dream come true, the first I had had in many a year. The sunlight streamed through the open window, alighting upon my face to awaken me. When I finally willed myself to sit up in bed, I could see through the parted curtains out across the circuit below me, with a superb view from the 155-degree left-hand Turn 8 up the hill to the Bus Stop chicane and beyond to the significant crest known as Hunter.
For the first time in years, I actually looked forward to the day which had just begun.
*****
By mid-summer of my first year, I had developed a bit of a routine. Nearly every morning, I would wake up, get dressed, then go biking, riding the entire 2.78 miles of the long circuit. This gave me a chance to do several things simultaneously: get some exercise, and check the circuit and the surrounding grounds for any trash or dangers. In the first few days following a race, the collapsible baskets on my bike would often both be full of trash which the wind had blown over the fences, as well as rather small pieces of debris which the track workers had missed. I had also begun to label the notable debris I collected and set them up in a ‘trophy case:’ a piece of Gilbert Masterson’s gold-colored front bumper from when he had spun and smacked the inside barrier at Turn 3, the wiper blade which had somehow snapped off from Silke Pedersen’s car during his airborne flip topping Hunter, and several more notable items forming a ‘crash museum’ in my living room.
Sometimes, I would also go out in the evening – sometimes by bike, sometimes by foot. If I took a tour by foot, I would usually stay outside the confines of the raceway itself, checking to ensure that any pre- or post-event campers were behaving themselves and not letting their festivities get too out of hand. In the middle of the week, this was a good time to meet some of the hikers, who would often camp on the mountainsides surrounding Faller’s Forest both to say that they had ‘been’ here and to enjoy the views of any vehicle testing which might be underway in mid-week.
Many people would likely find a job like mine to be quite boring, but after years of big-city living in the high-stress world of business, this was a relaxing pastime for me, not truly a job. I was closer than ever to the racing world, in a very unique way. It was a bit annoying when the security cameras that I monitored (in shifts with the others with similar jobs to mine) captured people attempting to break into the ground or graffiti the surrounding mountains, forcing me to call the police. But it had its perks, such as meeting young up-and-coming drivers and ‘knowing’ them before they truly made their names in the racing world, and especially meeting the many race fans who came in larger and larger numbers as Faller’s Forest became better known, attracting diehard fans from across the country as well as from Canada.
Winter was always a letdown. Virtually no one came to the circuit because of the snow and ice. There had been some discussion about starting an ice racing league using Faller’s Forest as one of the race venues, but surveys of race fans showed that there was simply not enough interest to prompt potential spectators to venture out into the cold and snow and ice of an Allegheny winter to watch such events in person.
Winter was thus the time when I thought most about the life I had lost. Specifically, I thought about my daughter, now estranged to me thanks to my ex-wife. I had no idea where they were, the last known address was in Sioux Falls, but that had been three years earlier. I lamented the fact that I had missed my daughter’s high school career, that I was not able to teach her how to drive, that I was not able to watch her grow from the little girl who had sat happily in my lap while I read Disney books into a young woman who would likely do great things during her lifetime.
Winter was when the tears came, when the gray strands became more prominent, when the darkness of the night mirrored the despair of my soul.
*****
Early in the springtime of my sixth year at Faller’s Forest, a television production crew came to interview me. They were looking for stories about the ‘forgotten side’ of racing: the life of a volunteer trackside worker, for example, without whom no race could safely ever take place. Somehow, they had learned about my duties, and when they contacted the owners of Faller’s Forest to ask permission, it was readily granted. Initially, I could have cared less, but as I thought more about it in the days leading up to the interview, I realized that I truly had some stories to tell – unglamorous stories, but interesting stories nonetheless.
And, in the back of my mind, I realized and hoped that this would be a way to connect with my daughter. I would not see her, but perhaps fate would allow her to see me.
The crew was at my door before sunrise. Fortunately, they did not try to film me waking up in the morning – that would have certainly caused viewers to change the channel. But they did position a camera at my bedroom window and made use of a time-lapse photography technique to show how the track changed during the course of the day, the mountains’ shadows moving across the scenic circuit.
The interviewer and several camera crew followed me that morning as I rode around the circuit. I explained my job, and answered their questions. We would occasionally stop and I would point out to them various locations where significant events had taken place over the previous five years of racing at Faller’s Forest: the wall which had been pushed back an ex
tra fifteen feet toward the eastern mountain to provide more run-off room at a key corner, the widening of the track in a few areas to provide better passing opportunities and thus a better race experience for the spectators, the places where significant accidents had occurred, the grassy area which had caught fire when Ayumi Sakai’s overheated Nissan was parked next to a burning cigarette butt someone had indiscriminately flicked through the fencing…
As the day progressed, I showed them my ‘crash museum,’ which generated a lot of interest amongst the crew. I showed them how I could access the various security cameras, and we watched the computer screen as a doe and her young fawn passed along the southern edge of the race venue. Of course, they had to have some footage of me playing my facing games such as Gran Turismo 4 and Forza Motorsport.
At the end, however, they asked me what I had hoped they would not ask: ‘What did you do before you came to Faller’s Forest?’ By the end of the evening, they knew my life story, including how much I missed my daughter. Fortunately, the tears did not come until the production crew had packed their van and left the raceway.
*****
About three months later, there was an unexpected knock at the door late one night. On the rare occasions that someone would come to the house so late unannounced, it would be a camper or a hiker reporting an incident on the surrounding mountainsides, so I hurried to the door as usual, ready to grab the backpack of First Aid supplies and the portable radio, the small refrigerator by the door was full of nothing but bottles of water for this very situation. But when I opened the door, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.
My little girl was indeed a little girl no longer.
Latisha
- 23.01.2022
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