You never know how you’ll react when you’re facing imminent death.
I should point out that the following story is true. I have some fairly interesting stories from my past and in the course of this year, I will get to all of them. Half the time, it was me being an idiot, or drunk or both. And young. Yes, *that’s* a swell excuse. But sometimes, I’m put in a situation. The gator dog story I told a while back was another situation. This was worse. This time, it was very close to a no win scenario.
This was sometime around 1990, possibly shortly after Lin and I got married. I’m approximating a year because it was before we had Theresa in ’94 and yet I think I was still trying to win over Lin’s parents or at least make it seem feasible to them that their daughter married a guy with at least half a brain and was somewhat decent.
I would not win them over this day, no.
Linda and I had traveled *with* her parents to the upper peninsula of Michigan to spend some time with Linda’s brother Mike and his family. We drove up there in Linda’s parent’s van. Got there, a good time was had by all, probably. Frankly, the trip home kind of blots out everything else. It was a six hour drive back from the UP and I volunteered to drive. Linda’s mom, Sylvia, sat in the passenger seat to keep an eagle eye on the speedometer. Linda was in the back seat, ready to take a six hour nap, seated next to her dad, Joe. He was perhaps the friendliest, most mild mannered guy you’d ever want to meet, with laid back sense of humor. Think Bob Newhart meets Winnie the Pooh. Joe also had a fondness for electronics, putting on headphones to listen to sports, books on tape, music, etc. So he was plugged in and would also be drifting off shortly, leaving me and Syl in the front seat. Me staring at the road, her staring at the speedometer, and occasionally having a smoke. I really got the distinct impression she was wary of me operating a vehicle. Up in the UP at the time, I don’t think we had any radio stations, or at least one that would suit both of us so it stayed off. The silence was thick.
Conversely, the road was thin. A two lane country road, which was currently backed up about a dozen cars deep, all held at bay by an old station wagon out in front going maybe 40 in a 50 mph zone. In the oncoming lane, there were enough bends in the road combined with occasional cars to prevent anyone from passing the wagon. And so it went. We were only maybe 20 minutes into a six hour trip and this was threatening to turn it into double that. I kept my hands at ten and two. Syl cracked the window. The sleepers in the back seat had drawn the curtains on the windows. The van having *curtains* on the windows… there was something off about that that I couldn’t put my finger on. But it made it nice and dark back there for napping. And so it went. Twelve of us behind the wagon. Actually, eleven anxious people in front of me and who knows *how* many behind me? I couldn’t tell and besides, the curtains were drawn. Beautiful country though. On both sides of the roads, before the decline to the ditches, were pretty little mailboxes up by the edge of the road, sentries made of tin and wood, lil red flags saluting! And so it went. The minutes ground by.
Suddenly, an opportunity! We hit a nice, big, long, straightaway, with only an occasional car coming the other way. People saw their chance and took it. One by one by one, the cars were passing the station wagon! Children somewhere were singing! Six cars to go….five cars to go….four…three….two, one. MY TURN. Opposite lane was clear and we had a straightway. I wanted to make it as quick and smooth as possible, so I moved out and floored it.
Several things happened then, or didn’t happen. I floored it but it was only at that moment that I realized the van had absolutely no pick up. AT ALL. Simultaneously, the driver of the station wagon must have been fed up with getting passed by so many cars, that the sight of a van with flowery curtains in the window was the straw that broke the camel’s back. HE SPED UP. Now I’m trapped in the left lane.
So I speed up, he speeds up. I’m pissed off but I can’t even call him a ********** or a ************ because my mother in law is next to me and my wife and father in law are asleep in the back and I hate waking people up. It’s rude.
Only about 20 seconds have passed since I started the maneuver but we’re still neck and neck and now, in the distance, I see a car coming towards us quite quickly. I have maybe 10 seconds to get out of the way. I let the A-hole in the wagon go ahead and drop back to get in behind him but –from what I can see in the small gaps between the curtains, there’s a solid line of another dozen cars right *behind* the wagon AND THEY WON’T LET ME IN. The oncoming car is now honking and closing in. I now have two seconds to get out of the left lane and I can’t go right, so I go left and off the road.
So now… we are diagonal on the grass, going at what passes for top speed in this vehicle, as the street-facing mailboxes are whizzing by. Above us. On our right.
And I am calm.
I know, I know, I complain about this, stress about that, even the small stuff. Worry is my natural habitat. But at this moment, diagonal, going fast, believe it or not, I am calm and say nothing. I like to think of myself as efficient as far as getting a job done, so I employed that mindset here. I just considered my next move, because I have no idea how far I can off-road on this incline. So I move up closer to the street, and see that the last car in the caravan on my side of the road just went by, so I scooted across the now clear oncoming lane and back over into ours, behind 20 cars now. Worse off than before, but alive.
There was a different kind of silence in the car now. Hard to put this one into words. Syl started to say something “Well…” then drifted off into a mumble. There were no comments from the back but I’m fairly certain they were now awake. Suddenly, I had a real bad urge to start laughing but I didn’t. At that point, we all kinda suddenly decided we should pull off the road to have some lunch. Why not? We were all awake, alive and it must have been nearly 10:30 in the morning. It was a quiet lunch, a very polite lunch. At one point, Syl casually said “I’m sure Joe wouldn’t mind driving the rest of the way.” Ooohhhhhhhh, no. Nu uh.
“No, I’m good,” I insisted, “I’ll drive the rest of the way.”
The *last* thing I wanted in the world was to get back behind the wheel of that damn van with that horse power and those curtains but of course you see, I had too. If I *didn’t* complete that horrible, dull, drive from hell, and prove that I could do it without killing the family, that’d be hanging over my head FOREVER. I *had* to finish that trip.
I drove the rest of the six hours. We turned on the radio. The rest of the trip went off without a hitch. You’d think that some day, we would have gotten to the point where we’d look back at that day and laugh.
We didn’t.

















