Defensive Driving

It was Friday evening and we were driving North on the Turnpike to spend the weekend in Daytona Beach with the Undaground-in-laws. Our trusty Toyota Camry was stocked with the usual roadtrip chattel: Peanut M&M's, Pringles, Starbucks, bottled water, Altoids, and our first child (the iPod). Inside the car it was a cool 74 degrees. The music was bouncy and fun. Our conversation was easy, easy like Sunday morning, even though it was still just Friday.

Outside, was a different story. Pounding rains chased us up the coast all evening. The roads were slick and nasty, and for much of the journey, my hands remained at 10 and 2. Cruise control was set on 80. I just had to brave the storm and steer the ship. My back was hurting because of the highway tension created by rainstorms mixed with presumably stupid drivers. The situation was exacerbated by that phenomenon that occurs when tractor trailers pass you in the driving rain, then slide in front of you, sending some bonus moisture your way for as long as you're stuck there.

Once we got past the congestion of Palm Beach County, the traffic eased up a little and so did my grip on the wheel. Before long, there were no other cars close in front of us, and none close behind. This was a much better situation, and my back was already feeling better as I enjoyed the mocha frappucino sitting in the cup holder. My wife and I were discussing something, and I began talking with my hands, relying on my knees to steer and the cruise control to keep me at 80.

Then, it happened.

It took me a second to process what I was seeing. There was a Volkswagen Beetle heading right for us at a 90-degree angle from a hill off the side of the Turnpike. Later, we figured that this car was probably getting ready to merge via the on-ramp, lost control and literally took a short cut down a hill and straight on to the Turnpike. My failure to act quickly here would result in a very powerful collision with this woman's driver-side door.

My wife screamed. The moment was surreal. I could see her out of the corner of my eye bracing herself. I pushed the brake down as hard as I could. It feels like I pushed it with both feet and all my body weight, like a leg press. I know that, consciously, instantly, I thought about my wife. And I thought about my child, nestled in the safety of the womb for a few more months. I knew it was my duty to protect them, and I can't even find the right words to illustrate how terrified I was for a brief moment.

Flashback

4th of July. Mrs. Undaground is driving us to a fireworks display. As she stops at a light more abruptly than usual, I look over and admit to her what I had just done:

"You know I just pressed my imaginary brake", I tell her.

"I do that with you all the time. Mostly when you're looking at me and talking with your hands, like this."

I guess she was right. I guess I do occassionally drive like I'm an actor in a movie, piloting a fake car in front of a green screen.

"You know, I'm one of the best drivers in the United States."

"Me too", she answered.

"Seriously, I could have been in Nascar had I chosen that path."

"Nascar, huh."

"Yep. And I don't even chew tobacco or own a confederate flag."

"What makes you think you're one of the best drivers in the world?"

"Not the world, just the United States. I've never been to Europe so I'm not sure how I'd handle the road there. You see, as a youth, I was an idiot sometimes. But me driving like an idiot for a couple years prepared me well for my adult years. Now, because of those crazy driving days, I've become an expert at avoiding serious accidents and defensive driving. It's like I use my powers for good now. It's like that "Catch me if you can" movie when Leonardo DiCaprio starts helping the government bust scam artists."

"Whatever", she said as she pulled forward after the light turned green.

End of Flashback

The Camry started skidding hard, but luckily stayed on a straight line. Meantime, the woman's Beetle was losing its back end again, and it now swerved so that she was facing us, head-on, on the Turnpike. Now, I had to hit the gas, and pull the wheel hard to the right. We drove up on the shoulder to avoid her and then back on the highway. Luckily, nobody was following closely enough to hit us from behind. As I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw a hubcap rolling down the turnpike.

Mrs. Undaground was now silent. I could feel my heart beating near my throat.

"I think I lost a hubcap", I said. Actually, it ended up being the Beetle's.

I pulled over on the side and got out. The woman in the Beetle had somehow turned her car in the right direction and pulled up behind us. She got out of her car. She was visibly shaken. I waited for Mrs. Undaground to get out of the car because I wanted this woman to see that she was pregnant, carrying the most precious of cargo.

"Are you OK? What happened", I asked the Beetle woman.

"I lost my back end and just started sliding. I had no control."

"You lost a hubcap back there."

"I can't believe that's the only thing. I'm so lucky."

"Definitely. Well, drive safe."

We got back in the car and sat for a moment. The bouncy, happy music was still playing on the iPod. I was now regretting the Starbucks. Turns out I didn't need anymore energy. My adrenaline was pumping. I could have wrestled a grizzly bear right then.

"You are the best driver in the world", said my wife.

"Thanks for following up. I think that conversation is officially over now. Just the United States, by the way."

We pulled back on to the Turnpike. For the next three hours, I drove like my trunk was filled with hundreds of egg cartons and several canisters of plutonium. For a few minutes, I couldn't help but see the "what if". Wow, is that scary.

My son is still officially prenatal. I've decided to stop calling him "unborn" because the word sounds creepy to me. Still prenatal and already I've experienced the feeling a parent gets when their child is in danger.

I'm sure that there will be countless incidents where we come out of it feeling extemely lucky. I hope that I can use my past mistakes to protect him. I hope he doesn't have to touch the stove to figure out that it's hot. I hope he doesn't have to drive like an idiot someday to learn how to avoid accidents. I hope he trusts me enough to take my word for it. I hope he doesn't become a Nascar driver and chew tobacco or hang a Confederate flag.