Move Over Punk And Make Room for Life in the Fast Lane

By J. Lee Austin, MD
Continuing on with our endearing theme of Near Death Adventures, the following close call featured the entertaining trilogy of sudden danger surprise, high speed chills and a thin line of control, flirting with a razor’s edge of disaster.

There I was, minding my own, cruising down the Interstate in my shiny new, Cowboy blue, ‘96 Chevy Blazer … I was large and in charge, rapidly closing the gap between Dallas and Houston. Not technically the king of the world, but feeling invincible nonetheless, I was Captain of the legend in my own mind, singing and driving my life away like a silly Eddie Rabbit.

J. Lee is a contributor to Crystal Beach Local News, and is the founder of The Good Help Network, a reader-supported publication.

Everything was deceptively normal when I decided to go around the 18 wheeler. Obviously this is typically a benign maneuver, but when the trucker you are passing simultaneously decides to go around the one in front of him, and most importantly, doesn’t see you in his mirror, things go south into horror town before you can say, “Oh mama, help me now.”

When I saw the looming, giant box trailer move into my lane and come straight for me, I had nowhere to go but hard left. I swerved off the highway and went down onto the roadside slope, where I was now screaming through the tall grass on a 20 degree angle at 70 miles an hour. As Todd Snider would say, I was … pressed for time.

There was nothing to do but hold on tight to the steering wheel, which was now having an epileptic seizure. After a few seconds I was able to gradually nurse my violently vibrating vehicle back up onto the highway, where my heart was pounding inside my throat and my breath was gone, having been sucked away into the vacuum of precipitous terror.

Funny how suddenly not dying can extinguish the burning desire to shoot the finger, triple bird flip a driver or otherwise commit some road rage. Once back up on the asphalt, I caught up to him and cast a seething glance that said, “Wow, thanks dude”and eased on down the road in a stuporous daze, having been unceremoniously reminded once again that I was living on borrowed time, sentenced to a life rife with run-on sentences and sundry other grammatical gremlins.

The miracle of course was the total lack of road signs, culverts, ditches or any one of countless other objects that could have destroyed my day in a ball of fire, not to mention my chance of ever becoming a brilliant writer, let alone an average one.

The fact that I didn’t flip and roll and get airborne and incinerated is proof positive that my guardian angel has super powers and is not afraid to use them. That being said, such a thoroughly jolting experience has a way of staying in your head forever.

To this day, it’s hard to pass another vehicle at highway speeds without the flashback of being shoved off road and forced to hold on for dear life. There must be a name for it. Hmmm, let’s see …

Tricky-truck-a-phobia
Rollover Beethoven psychosis
Delusional derailment syndrome
Perfidious pile-up paranoia

Whatever you call it, it’s a scary monster. So when you do decide to pass, be sure to cross your heart and hope not to die.

Here’s to living the charmed and bonus life, ~~ j ~~

“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.”
~~ Will Rogers

J Lee

J. Lee Austin is a contributor to Crystal Beach Local News, and is the founder of The Good Help Network, a reader-supported publication.

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