escape with a scrape
I am one lucky fuck. Not in the sense that “life is grand and everything I ever wanted came so easily” or “hit the jackpot” lucky, but that “I could have been run off the road and left for dead in a ditch” sense lucky. That’s right, M and I are glad to be alive today.
Sunday night, we were driving home and reflecting on our wonderful day (which will be the subject of some other post). We took the back roads to avoid the freeway and enjoy the fresh air and starry night. A full moon lit the clear sky and road ahead. It was a beautiful night, falling after an unseasonably warm 70 degree day.
We were discussing the incredible course of events that had led us to that moment. We were feeling rather grateful. After a lovely lunch with K and her mom (some other time, really), we had spent the rest of the day with family for my cousin-niece’s second birthday. I was quietly pondering what a difference a little hope makes in the course of a year.
Suddenly, some asshole appears out of nowhere and begins tailgating us, on this lovely two-land road through the rolling hills. Another car was a safe distance ahead of us. M gently tapped his brakes — the universal signal for back the fuck off, which he did. But a few minutes later, he zooms up behind us. We were coming around a curve with a double yellow line. And he goes to PASS us! On a curve. With a double yellow line.
By this point, the car in front of us was just about one car length ahead. Everyone was driving a reasonable speed for perfect conditions. The attempt to pass would have been idiotic. I assume he was trying to pass BOTH cars.
Sure enough, we saw an oncoming car in the other lane. There was nowhere to go. The asshole fuckwad was now threatening to either (a) hit the oncoming car head on, or (b) run him off the road, or (c) run us off the road so he could get back into the lane. See Figure 1 below.
It all happened in a split second, really. Amazing how you can be thinking about one thing one minute, and the next minute you could be dead. We were very close to being run off into a ditch on a solitary country road. If M had jammed on the brakes, he could have easily lost control of the car. Thanks to M’s excellent maneuvering to the shoulder, we escaped with just a tiny scrape above the driver’s side wheel when the asshole finally passed without a full sideswipe, cramming his way between us and the guy in front. See Figure 2 below. See? Lucky.
For anyone interested, we wrote down the fuckwad’s license plate and called it in to highway patrol when we got home. They logged it as a “hit-and-run” but told M to fill out a full report if we wanted to do anything about it. Because there was relatively so little (visible) damage, so far we have opted against it (although now that I see it, I’m getting angry again). Someone suggested it might be cathartic, but again, I refer you to Figure 1 above. That was cathartic.