David
Heiller
We headed home from Winona
in Moms 1964 Chevrolet Impala on a late night in March of 1970.
I’ll never forget what happened
on that ride.
 |
| About seven years after the described event. (I used to say that David had used eight of his nine lives. I was only kidding, honest.) |
Α wrestling
tournament had just ended, and my school, Caledonia had won, like we always did,
although I hadn’t won, which also wasn’t unheard of either. But the season was over
for me, and at that point in my life, it was kind of like World War II had ended.
I felt relieved and happy and free.
And proud, because I was driving
and Mom had trusted me with the car and with transporting three friends.
Then I hit a patch of ice,
and all of my power and confidence changed in an instant.
Ι still
can remember the exact spot. I think about it every time I pass it. It was on the
exit ramp from Interstate 90 to Highway 61, just north of La Crescent. That’s where
the sheet of black ice laid waiting like a thug. I hit it going way too fast, and
instantly lost control of the car.
We careened sideways down the
ramp. Α light
pole flashed by. We missed its concrete base by inches. The car straightened out
then spun the other direction. We hit the yellow meridian and banged over it onto
the oncoming lane of traffic, then shot toward a steep embankment, at the bottom
of which lay railroad tracks and the Mississippi River.
Inside the car we all screamed
as we bounced around, off the seats and roof and each other. Of course none of us
had seat belts on. Who wore seatbelts in 1970?
I saw my death. I know the
others did too. I remember thinking, “I’m going to get everyone killed,” and I was
ashamed and sad.
All this happened in a matter
of seconds, although it seemed like time had stood still.
Then somehow I turned the car
from the embankment and slowed down. I think all that time my foot was on the gas
pedal and not the brakes! I headed straight down the highway the wrong direction.
It’s a busy stretch of road, but thankfully that late night, no cars were coming.
I hit the meridian again, bounced over it, and landed in the correct lane. I pulled
over. We all knew that one of our nine lives had just died.
Α car
pulled up behind us. Two high school acquaintances got out and asked if we were
OK. They looked like they had just witnessed a miracle, a miracle in bad driving
and in survival.
I said we were OK. I drove
home in a very quiet car.
I didn’t say anything to Mom
that night. I thought, “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” But as we were getting
in the car to go to church the next morning, she asked, “What’s wrong with the tire?”
The left rear rim had a big dent in it, and the rubber wore a coat of yellow Paint.
“Did you have an accident last night?”
I confessed then, although Ι left out the screaming and crying.
My uncle Joe pounded out the
rim later that day. He was amazed it hadn’t gone flat.
If you are past the age of,
say, 25, chances are you have a similar story.
Driving a car in the winter
is dangerous, especially for a young, inexperienced person like that 16-year-old
boy in 1970.
If you are lucky, you will
escape with a hair-raising memory and a lesson learned. You might get a bump and
a bruise. You might pay for an auto body bill. You might get a lecture from your
Mom or Dad. You might take some joshing from Al Seibert when he pulls you out of
the ditch. That’s if you are lucky.
If you aren’t, you will end
up with people giving glowing tributes about what a great person you were, although
you won’t get to hear any of it. Or you will end up with a permanent injury, physical,
mental, or both.
I’m stating the obvious, and
all three young people who read my column will probably ignore this advice, but
I’ll say it anyway, for the record; be
careful driving in the winter. Don’t
be overconfident. Don’t go fast. Watch for the cars that coming your way. Wear your
seat belt. Slow down.
You might try driving on an
empty parking lot that is icy, or on a lake. Practice going into a skid, and then
correcting it. You actually come out of a skid by steering into it. It’s hard to
get used to, but that’s how it’s done. It should help when you start to skid on
a highway. (And remember to take your foot off the gas!) All of the above advice
applies to us old fogies too.
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