Driver's Dread

One thing that gives me pause about moving anywhere outside of Manhattan is the thought of having to drive everywhere.  I don't object to the act of driving itself; in fact, I kind of love to drive.  Whenever we rent a Zipcar to get out of the city for a weekend, I relegate my husband to the passenger's seat and take the wheel with a rather childlike excitement.  I relish the opportunity to tool about in some mode of transportation that does not involve oppressive body odor (well, other than our own) or men with dolls in their pockets; we bring along CDs and crank the stereo and WHEEEEEE!  (Then we get stuck in traffic on the GWB and the fun dies a bit; but still:  we've got our music, we're in control!  There will be no delays caused by fainting passengers!). 

I have the utmost confidence in my own driving ability.  My dad put me through his own personal version of driver's ed when I got my learner's permit (my high school offered zero driving instruction), consisting of basic practice outings around the vacant industrial park on weekends, parallel parking tests in a nearby school lot, and, finally, test drives on the highway at off-peak hours.  With his unflappable patience -- even with a skittish teen at the wheel -- Dad passed on to me a certain inner serenity as a driver; even in difficult conditions -- icy roads, fog, heavy rain, gassing up a U-Haul in Manhattan at rush hour during a snowstorm -- I remain placid, never making sudden moves or forgetting to check my mirrors. 

However.  The two near-death experiences I've had in my time on this earth have occurred while driving, and it seems that every month I hear about some horrific car accident involving someone in my hometown or some massive pile-up on the outskirts of the city, with dread injuries and multiple deaths.  I may get blown up by a terrorist one day on my way to work, but so long as I stay in New York and keep my driving to a bare minimum, at least I've downgraded the chances of vehicular death to somewhere around zero.  Because, you know, it's not me I'm worried about.  It's the other guy. 

When I was on the crew team in college, I drove to and from practice every morning.  Few students saw the hour of 4:45 AM as being a start to the day, rather than its backend, but such is the nature of rowing.  For whatever reason, it must be done in the most uncomfortable conditions possible (bitter cold, driving rain, oppressive heat) and at an unthinkable hour. 

My car was a zippy Geo Prism, which got about 570 miles to the gallon and would likely have folded up like a cardboard box on the slightest impact.  If I'd wanted to, I probably could have picked it up and thrown it.  It was a stick shift, which I loved -- thanks to Dad's additional tutelage on the manual transmission, if necessary I could have handled that baby at a stop light at the top of Pike's Peak with another car two inches behind me, such was my finesse with the clutch. 

The boathouse where our morning practices were held was on the north side of town, a couple of miles from campus.  To get there, you had to go off on a dirt road and cross some train tracks.  There were non-working railroad signals at the tracks and no safety bar thingies for the crossing, so the only way you knew a train was coming was to see it.  I'm sure you can sense where this is going.

One freezing cold morning, after a vigorous couple of hours on the water, one of my teammates and I clambered into the car to head back to our dorm.  The windows steamed up immediately from the sudden introduction of body heat into the car.  I turned on the defroster and absent-mindedly wiped my window with the back of my sleeve, but it instantly fogged over again. 

Several cars pulled out before us, and we followed them slowly toward the main road.  One by one, the cars jounced over the train tracks.  When we were next, I eased up on the brake and clutch just as my passenger, Kathy, leaned forward and peered out the windshield.  I pressed the gas slightly.  Kathy squinted through the misty window and then screeched, "TRAAAAAAAAAAAAIN!"  Without thinking or looking or braking, I floored the gas and we flew over the tracks, and in a whooshing clacking roaring rush of steel, the train swept by behind us.  It had missed us by maybe a foot. 

I pulled off to the side of the dirt road and put my head on the steering wheel.  Kathy slumped against the dash.  I thought about what might have happened if I'd hesitated for two seconds, if the car had stalled, if I hadn't tapped the gas hard enough.  We breathed heavily for a while in silence, and then I slowly put the car in gear and turned onto the main road toward campus. 

More than a decade later, my husband and I were driving up the Palisades to my brother's house.  It was late at night and the median was piled high with snow.  We seemed to be the only car on the road, and the wintry blackness enveloped everything outside of the sweep of our headlights.  As we came around a bend in the parkway, I saw a slight glimmer of lights some indiscernable distance away.  I blinked at them.  Something wasn't right. 

Suddenly, a glint of metal and a blur of small orange lights.  I swerved to the right before I knew what I was trying to avoid, and as the car clung to the shoulder and we sped past, I turned to look and found myself staring into the grill of a Mack truck.  The truck was splayed crazily across the highway, its cab flung into the two northbound lanes, facing into oncoming traffic, headlights OFF, with its trailer jack-knifed across the snowy median.  Once again, I'd been spared by a foot or two, a bare distance of seconds. 

Comments

[terriwc]

OMG, I am so glad that you never told me this before, or at least I don't remember being told. Such things give a mother great pause and much thanks. Glad you have such fast reflexes! and of course, such a great, patient instructor. Whew!

[Sueb0b]

I have always wondered how cars get hit by trains. Now I know: rowing.

My one NDE was when I was tooling down a country road in my gigantic chevy pickup at about 50 mph when a lumbering RV decided to turn left right in front of me. I locked up my brakes and began to spin as I saw the faces of the passengers gazing placidly, cow-like, at me through the back window of the thing.

I did a spin and a half before I came to a stop in the oncoming lane, where the traffic had, thankfully, stopped. I had missed the back of the RV by about a foot. No airbags, tons o' metal. Very exciting. Not recommended.

[jonniker]

I drive a lot, and live in fear of car accidents. Honestly, and this doesn't make a lot of sense, but part of the reason I would never raise my kids here in Florida is because of the long open stretches of road where people drive like maniacs and the speed limit is 60 or higher. There are no side roads here - at all. The street my development is off of? Speed limit 65. And that's TOTALLY NORMAL.

[steve]

I've been in two bad accidents, one as a teenager when I fell asleep driving home from work late one night, and another about 10 years ago caused by a tire blowout.

While I like to think of myself as a pretty good driver, things happen that are just out of your control.

That said, I've taken a few car control classes put on by a car club I belong to, and they've made me an infinitely better driver. I recommend them to everyone I know. Learning how to avoid an accident is worth a hundred air bags.

[sognatrice]

These close calls are really scary and really, really too close! I was in an accident as a passenger in which our car was totaled (no one seriously injured), but I had been sleeping, and everyone says that's why I got out with just a scratch on my knee (my first scar!); they said if I had been awake, my reaction would've been to resist the impact, and I probably would've been more injured. Anyway, timely post as I'm just thinking about starting to brave the Italian roads....

[Jamie]

I am so glad to hear that the two of you are safe and sound. I always rolled my eyes when my mom wouldn't let me drive with other teenagers, or drive in inclement weather. She was famous for, "I trust you, but I don't trust the other drivers out there." And while I've been the cause of some stupid, needless, very minor accidents, I've also been in a share of them that haven't been my fault (two in the last 5 months) -- and it's damn hard to get that heart pounding to stop. They're just scary, is all.

[lizgwiz]

That train story is SCARY. I've been in a couple of pretty bad accidents, but always as a passenger. Each close call DOES make driving scarier--I keep wondering how long my luck will hold out. I live in a part of the country where there's no choice as to whether or not to drive, though, so I just try to be as defensive a driver as possible.

[nonsoccermom]

Those are both very scary close calls. I've been in several accidents myself - none of them my fault, but scary and awful nonetheless. Especially that one where I had a split-second of realization that I was about to get hit. Better to not see it coming.