At least, it’s how I imagine it. I’ve seen those onboard television cameras showing the mayhem as the car’s driver rockets through between crashing cars. Except, this wasn’t NASCAR. It was Highway 412 east of Tulsa.
Speed limit: Seventy mph. Cars are passing me. We’re all westbound, close enough to Tulsa that there is activity at many of the crossroad intersections. Up ahead on the right I can see two cars halted at the stop sign on the north side of the highway.
There are five of us approaching, using both lanes. As the only one driving at the speed limit, I’m at the back of the pack. The car at the stop sign begins to edge out onto the highway.
He’s bound to stop, I’m thinking. There are five cars headed toward him at a high rate of speed. Another couple of cars are gaining on me, maybe a hundred yards behind. He’s not stopping.
Ahead, in my lane, the car zooms past, just missing the driver who has pulled onto the highway. The car directly ahead of me veers to the right, also barely avoiding a collision, but now the other car at the stop sign has edged forward – as though intending to also pull onto the highway. The sideways car is now blocking both westbound lanes. The driver stops momentarily, a full dead-fish-in-the-water halt, and he is crossways on the pavement.
Just ahead on my left the car has hit the brakes. A mistake. Should have aimed for the inside shoulder and shot through ahead of the now-parked car. The driver trying to cross the highway begins creeping forward and the approaching car swerves dramatically to avoid the collision.
No can do.
The car ahead of me shoots the gap behind the crashing cars. The bang is loud enough that I hear it through the closed windows. The other car at the stop sign has edged forward and I’m looking at the rear bumper of the crosswise car and the front bumper of the car at the stop sign as I slip through the space doing sixty-five.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a hubcap rolling along the shoulder to my left, keeping pace for a second or two before I leave the accident behind.
In the mirror I can see that the car is still blocking both lanes of westbound traffic with more cars approaching. As I watch, both cars follow the gap that I managed to squeeze through and successfully avoid smashing into the parked car. Another second and I see him creep his now damaged car into a turn onto the shoulder and out of the right of way.
What possessed him to pull out in front of all of us as we approached? I have no way of knowing. By all rights, he ought to be dead – a Christmas Day broadside-impact casualty on 412, one of our Got-To-Speed-On highways. The fact that he stopped his car in its tracks in the middle of both lanes probably saved his life.
We were all able to swerve around him. All of us, but one. An unhappy holiday event for the two that made contact, but one that did not end as badly as it might have.
The rest of us are left with some silent and some not-so-quiet sighs of relief. And here I am, resolving to leave the NASCAR-style driving to the racing professionals.
We’re back on track tomorrow at the shop, so…
Come visit!
McHuston
Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!
