"Forget the Hiatus" or "Counting Lucky Stars!"

First of all, this whole bloggin' hiatus? Kinda necessary, but not as much as I had thought - explanation to follow later in the week...

2nd of all, we went camping in Cali this past weekend; me, mah honey-man and the angel boy-O, camping together for the first time! - will write more about this soon.

But more pressing than 'first of all' or '2nd of all,' although I'm about to go to bed, I'm still stunned, reeling from a most harrowing experience I must share. BACKGROUND INFO: As a rule, whenever I'm on a road trip somewhere, I try hard not to exceed more than 15 mph over the speed limit. Why not just drive the speed limit? I'm not gunna answer that - geesh! Anyhow, to be more exact, I usually hover about 12-13 over the limit... SEMI-RELATED TANGENT: However, whenever traveling through Utah or Idaho, it's more like 8-10 mph over. And in Wyoming? No more than 7 mph over the limit, not EVER! And when I'm traveling in Nebraska, Iowa or Illinois? ...there are far too many explanations and stories to offer here, but I won't go into any of that. So anyhow, the 'background info.' continues: The speed limit between Vegas and L.A. is 70 mph, so I usually drive about 83 mph.

Now, see if you can picture this: I had just gotten off the phone with my honey-man, having reached Barstow, CA - my half-way point between L.A. and Vegas. Maybe 2 minutes before I'd hung up with him, I saw a white car coming up from behind me and fast. Before the approaching car would need to slow down at all, I moved into the middle lane and out of its way, allowing the speed demon to pass. It was a Grand Am and man, it was blazing! Now, if I was driving at 83 mph, you know it had to have been going faster... Keep that in mind.

Once the Grand Am had passed me, I was off the phone and coming up on a Budget rental truck, so I casually moved back into the far left lane, preparing to pass it. Then, looking further ahead on the road, by a distance of maybe 12-14 car lengths, I watched that same Grand Am suddenly swerve and move towards the soft, narrow left shoulder of the hwy. In a split second, having met the left shoulder, its rear end twisted 'round from the back right, towards its front, to then see the front right of the car catch, allowing the back left of the car to lift into the air, spinning the car round even more, so that its headlights were aimed in my direction for a mere nanosecond, to then watch the car's front driver's side flip up and then over for 2 and a half rotations, across the width of the 3-lane hwy, smashing into the upward slant of the far right shoulder's embankment.

The dirt stirred high up into the air from the left and right shoulders of the hwy had created an enormous cloud of dust, and before I came to a complete stop on the right shoulder, in the very midst of that dust cloud, I wasn't sure what I'd see, nor was I sure I'd even make it to the side of the road. It was remarkable, just how FAST the dust did settle though. For me, I first saw that the Budget rental truck I'd been about to pass on my right, moments before the accident, had stopped only 25 feet or so in front of me, and its driver was already outside, fumbling with the blue hwy emergency call box located a mere 10 feet away from the steaming Grand Am. I then saw that the Grand Am was resting on the length of its passenger side, its headlights (they were missing actually, along with the entire front bumper) aimed toward me. The windshield was smashed inward and I couldn't see anyone inside from where I was, but it looked as though the engine was still running.

Now keep in mind, ALL OF THIS happened in a matter of seconds: Before I had my parking break set, I had already punched the button for my car's hazard lights and had located my cell phone, a beach towel from the back seat and a hefty tub-size package of wet wipes. Then I was out my car door and running as fast as I could (wearing sandals), carrying with me the things I had grabbed, expecting the worst. Running past the rental truck driver, who was now only standing by the emergency call box, gawking at me, I yelled at him to please come help me.

Having reached what was the left side of where the Grand AM was, it was clear that the engine was still on, but I couldn't immediately see if anyone was in the car, even if all the side car windows had been smashed out. The Grand AM's interior was caked with red desert dirt and lined with shards and pieces of broken glass. Then I heard her, sobbing hard and loudly. A woman caked in the same red desert dirt, all powdery from head to toe, was crawling from the backseat towards the entirely smashed out back window. I ran around towards the rear of the car, where I discovered a man, head shaved (I could see all kinds of bloody nicks around his head), who was also caked in the same powdery dirt, standing as if he'd just straightened up, his eyes blinking madly, and he looked as though he was going into shock.

The rental truck driver then came to my side, and once I began asking questions (more like shouting, but not quite), we both tried to determine if either of the two were seriously hurt, if they thought they'd broken any bones, etc. etc. and we tried to help the woman out of the Grand Am, pulling her up from the back window of the car. And as she stood, still sobbing (understandably!), she and her man insisted that they were okay - and looking them over, despite all the dirt, all I could see was scrapes and cuts. Nothing deep. Nothing major. They were, by potentially-fatal-auto-accident standards, perfectly fine.

By that moment, more people had stopped at the scene, but no one had turned off the Grand Am. The sound of the engine and the still blaring stereo, coupled with the smell of burning antifreeze brought this fact back to my attention. I looked around to see maybe 5 new people within reach, all grown adult men, most gravitating towards the still sobbing (understandably!) woman, asking her if she was all right, although the guy (presumably the woman's significant other, who was also crying by that time) was the one in worse shape. I had already given the towel and wipes to the dusty couple, insisting they both sit down on the ground, and had also grabbed a man who had run up to me, insisting he had a veritable first-aid center in the back of his SUV if needed. I asked him to please help get our dusty couple to sit down, and then I stood and turned to grab the rental truck driver, but saw that someone was finally back on the emergency call box, shouting out the pertinent questions - - What kind of car is this? What's the closest mile marker? What happened? What went wrong? Are you sure they're okay? No broken bones? They didn't break anything? No bones?!?

I then announced the obvious - "The car engine's is still running!"

Absolutely no one made a move...

Next thing I know, I'm jumping to dive through the broken driver's window, battling with a fully deployed airbag, trying to turn the damn car off. It took two 'dives' to do it. No one tried to help - ???

IMPORTANT NOTE: Before I forget to mention this, absolutely NO ONE was else was hit by the Grand AM when it violently tumbled across the highway; everyone else passed by without further incident. How that is, I have NO idea.

So, what had happened? The Grand Am couple were #1 DRIVING WAY TOO FRICKIN' FAST, and #2 doing so ON A SPARE TIRE!?!? located at the rear of the driver's side??? - ya know, one of those wienie lil' donut spares you're not supposed to use going any faster than 35 mph? But what triggered the accident was that #3 their front driver's tire blew, and #4 after the inital blow, moving immediately to the left shoulder before first slowing down at all, when those two bad tires hit the softness of the left shoulder, their sheer speed and the momentum of the car's right side spun the car around and it flipped and flipped.

Once the man talking on the emergency call box had completed his call and the Grand Am couple had wiped their faces clean, about to start on the scapes and cuts they had all over their their legs and arms, I stood there for a moment, staring at them. I stepped forward and crouched in front of them both, and starting to cry, I said (more like choked) very slowly, "You guys are sooo lucky."

And then, shaking still from all the adrenaline, I walked back to my car and left.

Of course, I called my honey-man as soon as I had successfully merged into the backed up traffic, back on the hwy. It was difficult to speak - - they were so lucky. They were so lucky. And I was stunned; at how so many people stopped, but so few made a move to actually help. And they were so lucky.

The rest of my drive home to Vegas, I cried off and on, relieved and amazed that no one else, including myself, had been hurt at all. And in my head, I recounted all the times I've witnessed the occurence of an auto-related accident and all the times I've found myself in the midst of an accident scene. There are many stories to tell. And I'm counting my lucky stars.