Any time you get in a motor vehicle, you have to have some degree of trust and faith in the other folks on the road. You would assume, at least, that they don't want to be in a wreck any more than you do, and that they'd act accordingly. That would be the ideal, at least. But the reality is, more often, they want to be the one in the right, or with the right to move first, or whatever.
I've been fortunate in the 20 or so years I've been driving. The lessons I learned in my first few years really stuck with me, and I've also developed a sense of caution. I've heard and seen enough, and experienced enough, to know you need to look out for the other guy. Most of the time, I assume the other guy will try to pull some boneheaded move, and that's when I know to hold my position, check up or get out of the way as fast as I can.
This has saved my bacon a few times. A few years back, I was about to drive home, and the route home requires me to cross a very busy main road in town. I was at an intersection. The light had just turned green. I hadn't yet moved. Out the corner of my eye, I saw a Buick tearing along that main road at too high a rate of speed. I had the right of way, but I knew what was about to happen, and so I waited. Sure enough, that Buick shot through the red light at 40 or so. Had I moved, I'd probably have been right in his line of fire, and probably have been killed. That's part of why I don't trust the other guy on the road. That's why when a light turns green, I pause for just a second and make doubly sure the cross traffic has stopped. Because I remember that Buick, and what could have happened.
I was reminded anew one night last week. Hubby had called and invited me to meet him for dinner in town. So I did, and we met up and had a nice time, and then started out for home. I was at the intersection of a somewhat busy road and the on-ramp for the Interstate, and had to make a left turn to get on the on-ramp. The turn lane signal had just gone out when I got to the line, so I held up and waited for an opening in the oncoming lane so I could make my turn. This took a little bit. Finally, it looked like I could go.
Of course, what had happened in the time I'd started my move was that a large Dodge pickup had pulled into that oncoming lane. The light was turning yellow. I'd committed to my turn by this point, so I had to get going. The driver of the pickup, meanwhile, moves to the outside lane. I can't discern his intentions. Is he about to go for the on-ramp, or go straight? Either way, as the yellow comes up, he does what some folks do when they see a yellow: stand on the gas to try to beat the red light. This meant that as I turned, out the passenger's side window I see a pair of bright headlights and a big chrome grille bearing down on me at a high rate of speed.
It's funny what goes through your mind at moments like that. I've never had an accident in all the years I've driven. Is this how 23 years of safe driving ends? More to the point...is this going to be it? Is this how it is I die? (It's also funny what comes out of your mouth, too. At the top of your lungs. Words you take such great pains not to say in ordinary life, because you know how they make the angels weep.)
What happened next, I can only attribute to the grace of God, and to whatever latent race-car driving abilities may be encoded in my DNA from whatever kin I have who fled the revenuers back in the day. My mouth panics, but my body reacts. It was pretty amazing. So as my mouth is saying the nasty words, my reflexes tell me to firewall it. So I throw on the power, half-expecting to feel the hard smack and hear the sickening crunch of steel and Endura any second. Fortunately, my little car responds to my entreaties. Her little bobbed tail clears the lane with probably no more than a foot to spare. There's no sickening thud, none of that fury I expected. Only the reassuring tickety-tick of my little car's engine, the whine of the transmission running through the gears as normal.
Out the left window, I look to make sure we're clear. I see the hot dog in the Dodge throw on his binders, and something in me hopes it scared him too.
About three miles down the road, I realize my left hand still has a death grip on the steering wheel, and I relax it. I spend the rest of the night praying a lot -- for thanksgiving, for forgiveness for what I've said, and so on. The temptation was there to say some pretty harsh things about the truck's driver, for what he did was a fairly boneheaded, dangerous move. But I also can't escape wishing I'd just waited through another light sequence for the green arrow. I also know that it was nighttime, and I hate night driving anyway. And I also know I was really tired, and that "get-there-itis" was setting in.
The experience was a nasty reminder for me to wait next time -- and, I hope, a reminder to the truck's driver that gunning it through a yellow light is a stupid idea. (And I speak from experience, having once been ticketed for going through a yellow...the cop who pulled me over said they'd had several wrecks at that intersection caused by people doing just that.)
Oh, and to add to the icing on the cake: on the drive home, I spend several miles with a Honda stuck behind me. With its bright lights on. (And an unnecessary set of equally-bright driving lights.)
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is a reminder why I don't like trusting other drivers. And why, sometimes, I'm wary even of myself.
For more installments of "I Learned About Flying From That," click here.
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