Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Tout Suite Too

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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