On June 16th 2006, a Sunday afternoon. I was at home in my recliner, the Sunday paper spread around me. NASCAR on the TV and I was dozing, wearing shorts but no shirt, shoes or my glasses. It was late afternoon, close to 4pm and the shades were drawn to ward off the heat from the 108 degree outside temperatures and sun beating in. I woke up and noticed shadows on the shade, as if clouds were moving across. Living in the foothills of the Sierras in Northern California, afternoon thunderstorms from up high across the summits sometimes worked their way down to my elevation, so I got up to check to see if we would get some cooling rain. The window looks out over the canyon where our home is on a ridge, the ground 15' below due to the slope of the property, the front door level with the ground. I opened the shade and stared into what I thought was hell. A fire crowning though the canopy of trees was upon us and fire was everywhere. It was as if I were looking into the glass window of our wood stove. I uttered at grunt and backed up in confusion, tripped on the coffee table and knocked myself out hitting the fireplace hearth. When I came to, the house was filling with smoke. I shouted for my wife, who was napping in the bedroom, GET UP! WE ARE ON FIRE! She got up and ran out to me in the living room. I told her to grab the dog, get in the car and drive until she was clear of the flames. I would follow her in my truck. She grabbed our pug dog, her purse which she keeps by the front door, and the cordless phone, calling 911 on her way out. I grabbed my truck keys and left as well. We lost everything. All I had was my truck, keys and the shorts I was wearing. No wallet, no glasses, nothing.
The fire was started by a truck that hit a motorcyclist down on the highway in the canyon below, who fled the scene with the driver side front wheel ripped off during the collision and sending showers of sparks as she fled to escape. She set 21 fires over 4 miles, ours was fire #10. It seems like yesterday sometimes, or like a dream or movie we once watched. The years we spent to recover and return to our new sense of normalcy were many, but we made it. The motorcyclist was killed, the truck driver, a woman sheriff off duty, charged with gross vehicular manslaughter and arson of an occupied dwelling, was sentenced to 11 years. She got 50% off for good behavior and no parole. Neither of those offences are considered violent. We never recovered a dime of restitution from her.
