OK, I didn't want to get too personal with this blog, but I'm bored.
I went home to Birmingham Friday to see the family and hear my daughter sing at the wedding of a friend. On Sunday, an ice storm moved across the South, so I tried to get out ahead of the storm for the return trip to Gulfport.
I'd considered driving south on I-65, thinking I'd get below the storm, but the radio said the ice storm was going to be worse in Montgomery and the counties below Birmingham, so I went west toward Tuscaloosa and Mississippi - the preferred route for returning to Gulfport anyway.
But the sleet started before I even got off I-459, and by the time I hit Tuscaloosa I was in a caravan of creeping cars and trucks, doing about 20 mph, watching the local tow truck economy boom by the minute, judging by the number of cars and trucks stuck on the side of the road.
I tucked in behind a big 18-wheeler, figuring the truck would blaze the trail for me - while keeping a safe distance just in case either one of us hit a bad spot.
By Meridian, I encountered a phenomenon I'd only heard about: frozen windshield wipers. I couldn't decide if it was better to drive without them operating or to try to see through the blur they left behind on the windshield as I drove. It was night and, as I said, rain/sleet was falling, so I needed them.
My new favorite Pilot truck stop beckoned. I filled up with gas, broke the ice off the windshield wipers, bought a good supply of junk food (two hotdogs, Pringles, and two Diet Cokes), and headed back out onto I-59.
The roads were pretty clear, and the sleet had turned to rain, so I was feeling pretty good as I came around the curve where I-59 splits with I-20 and heads south. The curve is a big bridge and I was careful as always. But as I came off the big curve and accelerated, I didn't see the second, smaller bridge and ... well, the next thing I knew I was spinning wildly down the interstate... then off the interstate ... then up an embankment ... then down an embankment.
It's funny, the things that go through your mind in a moment like this. I knew not to hit the breaks, of course. And I remember my head being on the roof of the car and thinking it was softer than I'd have expected. I wondered if my Diet Coke was spilling all over the front seat. And what I'd do if I flipped over. I could feel the seat belt/shoulder strap digging into my ribs ...
I also remembered seeing a car do the exact same thing once and actually bounce back onto the road, where the driver just kept driving. I wondered if I'd be so lucky.
I wasn't.
When I stopped, I was wedged in a ditch, nose toward the interstate. It was dark. There were no cars that would have seen me. And it was raining harder.
I opened the door and sure enough my Diet Coke had spilled on the front seat, but not so bad that I couldn't clean it up with the hefty supply of truck stop napkins that I always remember to bring with me. Don't ask why I found that satisfying.
I got out, and the car didn't look too bad, other than an enormous amount of mud and grass and the fact that I was wedged between two embankments.
I got back in the car, and restarted the engine. It cranked and the lights came on. I put the car in drive, but of course it wouldn't go anywhere.
Bored yet? It doesn't get any better.
I put my flashers on and my bright lights, and sure enough a nice guy stops to see if I'm OK. He called 911 and reported what happened and offered to stay with me. I said no, there was no telling how long this would take and I could stay in my car. I appreciated his kindness, however. I wish I could remember his name.
I called the trophy wife and told her what had happened, but just then a Mississippi state trooper pulled up. He called for a tow truck, and said it would take about 30 minutes - not bad, considering what I'd seen on the drive up to that point. And he waited with me. Again, I appreciate the kindness of strangers.
Finally, the tow truck showed up, and agreed to pull me out of the ditch. He said he would not be responsible for any damage to the car that might result from being pulled out of the ditch, but what choice did I have? He said it was either agree he would not be responsible, or wait for another truck who might have another idea about how to get me out of the ditch. I figured we'd go for it.
After getting the old girl up on the side of the road, it was obvious she was a mess but mostly it appeared to be cosmetic (which matters to old girls, you know).
We had to cut off the lower spoiler under the front bumper, and I was able to re-attach the rear fender skirt that had come off. But other than that, it looked to be just dirt and mud and grass.
"I hope you take credit cards," I said.
"Cash only,'' he said.
"What do you want to do?" I said. "I don't have any cash."
"You can follow me back to the Chevron station. There's an ATM there."
I said ok, actually feeling good that I'd have a tow truck escort just in case the old DeVille (I call her Cruella .... Cruella DeVille) wasn't fine after all.
It wasn't.
At slow speeds, it ran fine. But the faster I drove, the more the car seemed to buck.
Now, she has bad shocks. I knew that. But I didn't know what else might be wrong. So the tow truck driver stopped, and I climbed into the cab with his granddaughter while he hooked the car up to the truck in the freezing rain. It wasn't an easy process, because so much of his equipment was frozen to the truck and he kept having to get this big 4x4 block of wood and knocking things loose.
The granddaughter was nice. Her boyfriend kept calling to see where she was and how long she'd be, and she finally told him to stop calling and she would call him when she go home. Then she told me she wasn't going to call him at all, because she was tired of him calling her over and over.
Her mother called, and wanted to know where they were. She said she didn't know, that "Papaw" - obviously her name for her grandfather which, ironically, is also what we called one of my grandfathers - was helping a guy out and had to take him back to town.
When Papaw climbed into the truck to drive us back, she put on a country music station and began to sing. At first, I thought she was trying to sing harmony. But the more I listened, the more I realized she just couldn't carry a tune.
Now, that's strange for me. Everyone I knew growing up could carry a tune. They might not have good voices, but they could at least come close to carrying the tune.
The first person I ever really heard that just couldn't sing anything close to on key was one of my wife's brothers. We were roofing a house - this was years ago - and he started singing an old song ("Hey, hey, Paula"). I thought he was being funny, singing so far off key, and I joined in, singing just as bad, but on purpose.
Then I realized he wasn't doing this on purpose.
That was a revelation to me. I'd always heard of tone-deaf people, but never really encountered one that I could think of. Bad singers, yes. But to just not even come close to the actual tune while believing you were singing along perfectly? Never.
But I digress (which is OK, since this is my blog).
I couldn't help but think how my weekend started by going to hear my daughter, who has a wonderful voice, sing in a wedding, and how it was going to end with this country girl butchering every song that came on the radio.
But again, I appreciated the kindness of strangers. She was genuinely concerned that I was going to be "late for work,'' as she put it. She wanted to know if I would get in trouble. I told her I didn't have much choice. Papaw took me to the Super 8 because it was walking distance to a Cracker Barrell and Logan's, realizing I might be stuck here awhile.
Again, the kindness of ... well, you know.
So I'm in a Super 8 motel room, in Meridian, with no car and no idea of when my car will be checked out. I called first thing Monday morning and the tow truck driver told me the mechanic lived "way out in the country, but when he comes in I'll take your car up to him."
Meanwhile, it's rather soggy powdered donuts, industrial strength blue berry muffins, a 75-cent can of Diet Coke, and SportsCenter.
It occurs to me that I might be here tonight, watching the BCS national championship game, by myself.
It also occurs to me that because of cell phones and internet, I can still get some work done.
And since it's 8 a.m., I guess that's what I'd better do.
Don't get me wrong. I realize it could have been a lot worse, and I'm thankful.
But now the thankfulness has worn off, and I'm anxious to get on the road, or to get to the garage to urge the mechanic on, or do something.
There is an old saying that sticks with me and I use often. It goes, "If you want to hear God laugh, just say 'I have plans.'''
I think I hear God laughing.
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