As you will remember,
last week we left our hero in a dire predicament…
So there was my Nova, doing its best impression of the space
station ala 2001: A Space Odyssey (MGM-1968),
hurtling southward while spinning on its own axis. Once a vehicle has lost traction and turned
its ass around one hundred eighty degrees, the operator has become more or less
dead weight and is merely along for the ride, as short or long as it may
ultimately prove to be. So I calmly
removed my hands from the steering wheel and pondered my situation, the
probable outcomes and the faint strains of Johann Strauss, Jr.’s “Beautiful Blue
Danube”.
The situation: Some
might say my car was out of control at this point. This is incorrect. It was perfectly under control of the calculable
and predictable laws of physics. And as
such, it would continue to travel in a straight line until interrupted by some
other force. A quick assessment of my environment
(from memory, it’s dark) yielded that I was on a two lane country road. On the left, no right, no left… on the east
side of the roadway is a shear drop-off of ten to fifteen feet. On the west side is a cliff face of solid granite.
The prospects seemed grim at best (la-dah-dah-dee-dah,
dum-dum, dum-dum). I counted three
complete spins (I have no idea how many actually occurred). When the vehicle came to a stop, as a result
of gravity and the coefficient of friction between my tires and the macadam, I realized
I had neither collided with the escarpment nor been launched into orbit. Unbelievably, my car had come to rest
perfectly centered in the northbound lane (remember, my original direction of
travel had been south) facing the correct direction.
For a brief moment I sat there and collected my thoughts,
most of which were, “I need a restroom!”
Rather than try to maneuver a U-turn in these hostile climes, and
perhaps encounter a cruising Highway Patrol unit, I just opted to follow my
good fortune back into El Cajon and seek out another route to Casa De Oro (my
home community).
Lesson learned? C’mon,
this is Dale we’re talking about. My
motto: Any lesson worth learning is worth learning multiple times.
In 1986 I realized a life-long dream and purchased my first
Corvette. It was a 1981 model year. The color was metallic graphite. It would sparkle in the moonlight. On one occasion, while cruising through a
strip-mall parking lot, a little kid called his father’s attention to the car
and shouted, “Dad! Look, it’s the
Batmobile!’ Yeah, I was cool.
I was a resident of greater Los Angeles at the time. Two weeks after the purchase, I drove to my
folks’ house in San Diego for the weekend to show off the new wheels. I arose early Sunday morning to take the
Corvette out on the nearly deserted roads to see what she could do.
There was a complex network of rural roadways within minutes
of my parents’ home so it didn’t take long for me get truly into the spirit of
the proceedings, which was speed. I was
tearing along Willow Glen Road in generally a southwesterly direction. This is within a couple of miles of the
famous sub-orbital, maiden flight of the Nova.
The proximity reminded me of that fateful night. But no fear, I was in a true-to-form sports
car now. I could scoff at the laws of
physics. Haw!
Suddenly I found myself face-to-face with a familiar driving
challenge; a slight upgrade in a curve where the apexes of the hill and curve
coincided. With cool aplomb, I goosed
the gas just a bit to transfer weight to the rear wheels and increase
traction. The master has arrived!
Then there was a sickening reemergence of a long-suppressed
feeling. My rear end was coming around
faster than I could steer into the slide.
Once again, hands off of the wheel, into analysis mode. It seems pea-gravel, detritus from the rock
wall on my right, significantly changes the formula, greatly reducing friction. This time, the car made only one rotation as
it slowed. I remember thinking, “I’m
gonna beat the devil twice (as it turns out, I have competed with and fought
the devil to at least a draw on several occasions, but those are other stories
for other times) in one lifetime.” As
the front end continued to slow its sweeping arc across the spinning landscape,
I let out a breath. Then a new question
popped into my head, “Hey, when did they put that guard rail (BANG!) there?”
Nature can be very humbling, especially when we test wisdom again
and again. I was very lucky to have
survived spin-outs twice (that you know about): The first cost me nothing but
pride. The second was a bit more
expensive, about $600 in body work.
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