That moment when you’ve lost control
It’s happened to most of us at one time or another; that moment when we know something awful is about to happen but we are powerless to stop it.
It happened to me on I-15 just a mile or so north of Idaho Falls last week. It was early morning and the road was icier than anyone expected, including the guys responsible for plowing and sanding. Cars were stranded everywhere, on the shoulder facing backward, crossways of the on-ramps, in the median. A real mess.
Apparently the word hadn’t gotten out, so who knew? Not the snowplow driver. Not my daughter’s GPS, computer weather program and other electronic gadgets that are supposed to keep travelers out of such situations.
We were caravanning back to Bozeman and she was about a mile ahead of me when I realized my Subaru had less traction than I was comfortable with. Betty was driving a new Dodge Journey with all-wheel drive and new Blizzak tires. My Blizzaks were still in the storage locker waiting for the first winter storm that blew in the day after I left for California. Betty was traveling about 60 mph and I was struggling to keep up.
I spotted a pickup with a snow blade on front coming down the on-ramp and slowed down to let him into the only clear lane. Instead, he slowed down too. We were then side by side and fast running out of maneuvering room. I knew better than to move into the unplowed lane, so the only option was to apply the brakes. In three years, the ABS has never failed me, but as I stepped on the brake pedal I heard a crunching noise; the wheels locked and my Subaru went into a careening, fish-tailing slide, totally out of control and heading for the wide snowy median that slopes deeply toward its center (I assume this design prevents head-on collisions).
I remember saying, ‘Oh no’ several times and trying to turn the wheel in the direction of the skid. As the car left the highway plunging downward and spinning simultaneously, I saw we were headed for a tall metal post. A moment later all motion stopped; Subie’s right fender was broadside to the post with about a foot of clearance and I was looking back up at the highway.
The car was unscathed, the motor was still running and I was slightly shaken but unharmed. I tried to drive my way out and made it to within a couple feet of the pavement, where Subie reached its limit and was digging itself in deeper. I turned off the engine, called Betty on the cell phone and told her I could see the southbound off ramp sign across the way. She said, “Call Triple A. I’ll get back, but it might be a ways to the next exit.”
Then miraculous things began happening. A guy stopped and hiked over to see if I was okay. “I could pull you out but I haven’t got a chain,” he said. I told him my daughter was on the way and thanked him.
My first call to Triple A was shunted from Montana to Idaho where I was told it would be an hour before they could get to me. I asked the Idaho guy if there wasn’t anyone in Idaho Falls and he patiently informed me that he was in Idaho Falls but there were about 40 calls ahead of mine. “I’ll make yours a priority,” he volunteered.
Next, the highway snowplow driver stopped to see if help was on the way. I told him it was. Then he offered to spread sand on the closest lane so other cars wouldn’t slide into mine and to help the tow vehicle get traction. Wow!
Meanwhile, Betty had gotten to the nearest ramp and found a store where she hoped to buy a tow chain. Another customer asked how far away her mom was stranded. She told him just a mile or so and he offered to pull me out. He arrived within minutes in a Suburban (bless those muscle cars) and untangled a huge mass of nylon rope. Betty got behind the wheel of my Subie and together they had it back on the highway in a flash. Betty insisted on tipping him, which he resisted. How nice is that?
Still a bit shaky, we were northbound again in less than a half hour. This is one of the reasons I love living where I do. People in the northern Rockies just have a different ethic. Someone has always stopped to help me when I was lost or stranded. It’s been my experience this doesn’t happen in Southern California where everyone’s in a hurry, there’s too much traffic and we’re warned never to stop on the highway for any reason. Too dangerous, they say.
The other thing this little episode taught me is that sometimes you just don’t have the control you want. And when you lose it, just take a big breath and trust that help will be on the way.
But while I’m getting more comfortable with uncertainty and powerlessness, I think I’ll add a towrope to the shovel and space blanket in my box of emergency stuff.