| From the Desk of Don Yocham: Twenty-two years ago, my soon-to-be wife and I upped stakes and headed out to California.
We had just finished grad school at Washington University in St. Louis and were on our way to make Newport Beach our home.
With U-Haul loaded, we hitched up my Honda Civic and ventured out with our two dogs – all of us crammed in the front seat.
Most of the trip was uneventful, except when we decided a detour through Sonoma, Arizona, was a good idea.
The climb from the desert floor to Sonoma was so steep that even with the gas pedal floored, we managed a mere ten miles per hour on the way up. The narrow road with hairpin turns made it a real white-knuckle ride. Imagine staring over a 1,000-foot cliff from the driver's side window while wondering where wheels and cliff-edge meet, and you get the picture.
But the "fun" didn't really start until the way down.
The dogs were in severe gastric distress because we switched them to canned dog food so that they would eat quickly (not worth it). My dog Jack sat with his head on my shoulder staring at me while hoping I would pull over soon.
Plus, gravity isn't your friend on a steep decline with no margin for error. The accelerator was vestigial at this point. But the nerve-frazzling dance with the brakes ramped my emotional tension to its maximum.
That I could smell the brakes working overtime didn't help.
The Federal Reserve finds itself in a similar situation. After flooring the gas pedal to gin-up inflation for over a decade, it finds itself suddenly on the downhill slope. It's anyone's guess whether they can skillfully pump the brakes.
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