Please, Don’t Drive Off The Mountain
Author’s Note: For this post, I am not using real names. I’m not hiding a crime (well, not really) and the people involved know who they are. Usually, I would ask the people in the post if I could use their names, but in this case, I don’t have access to everyone, so ‘the names have been changed to protect...me.’
I have been in three major car accidents in my life. When I say major, I mean car(s) destroyed, ambulances called (fire trucks for one of them), and people ended up in the hospital.
In chronological order, this is the second on a very short (hopefully) list.
In the seventies, found myself in the second car of a two-car-caravan headed to a campsite somewhere in Pennsylvania. Never in my life did I have any desire to go camping, but there I was. Each car had four people, packed with equipment we needed for the weekend. The driver of our car, Jack (it was his car) followed the leader. We specifically told the driver of the first car, we did not know where we were going, so please do not lose us.
They lost us three miles into the trip.
The seventies means, no cells, no GPS, just a relative knowledge of the area of the campsite; we’ll figure something out.
Turned out, we didn’t need to know.
Well into Pennsylvania, we weaved are way up a mountain, still not sure where we headed, but confident we’d get there.
Oh, by the way, did I mention we were drinking?
We were drinking.
Empty beer cans filled the car floor (we wouldn’t dream of littering). Up into the mountain we climbed, a long drop just the other side of the guard rail.
Cars in the seventies were tanks, a great deal of space inside. So much so, I was able to turn completely in my seat, lean over the headrest, and talk to Tom and Jimmy in the back seat.
Captain Jack was on the radio, but what’s that other sound?
I know, it was the sound the tires made when they hit gravel on the shoulder of the highway. Without a thought, I gripped the headrest just as the car hit the rail, flipped over, and rolled down the side of a mountain.
As we rolled, all I saw was a tunnel of black in front of my eyes. I was a sock in the spin cycle, just waiting for the machine to buzz.
When the cycle ended, the car found itself driver’s side down. I looked, and the first thing I saw was Jack, eyes closed, a red streak under his chin, from ear to ear.
I opened my door and climbed up, and out, of the car. On the side of the embankment, Tom sat, apparently on the upturn he was thrown from the car. And, oddly, it knocked the laces out of his shoes.
I continued up toward the highway. Stood on the asphalt, waved my arms for a car to stop. First car drove passed me, so I kicked the back panel, but it continued on its way.
The next car slowed enough for me to yell, “Call and ambulance, we’ve been in an accident!”
After that, car after car stopped. A few people climbed back to the wreck with me. Someone noticed all the beer, so a few minutes later a group of people, who didn’t know each other just moments before, threw beer cans, both empty and full, into the woods.
Went back into the car and got Jack out. Jimmy climbed out the rear window, and eventually we all ended up on the highway.
The ambulance arrived and took us to the hospital.
In the emergency room, the doctor checked us over. Fortunately, Jack’s neck wound was superficial, and Jimmy had a cut on his arm. After the doctor heard the account of the accident, he stated that it could have been much worse, and we were extremely lucky.
Jack, after he heard the doctor’s comment, and after he rolled his car off a mountain, chimed in:
“Yeah, and if my grandmother had balls, she could have been my grandfather.”
(He absolutely said that)
By the way, the doctor was closer to the truth then he knew.
Where we went over the rail, the roll down the grade was about two-stories long. However, if we had gone over the rail a few miles back, it was a shear drop; they never would have found us or the car.
By the end of the day, Jack and Jimmy were admitted for their injuries; Tom and myself where let go.
In a town that rolled up its sidewalks at 8 pm, we were lucky to find a small hotel (think Shady Rest), and something to eat.
The next morning, I had been hit by a truck. Took all my energy to get out of bed, and shower. My body never hurt this much, every move a challenge. Tom was the same way.
Two decrepit twenty-somethings inched their way toward the hospital. When we got their, two idiots hung out the hospital window, waved and yelled good morning to us.
Guess a night in a hospital does wonders after a car accident, as opposed to a night in an old, run down hotel.
Who knew?
Went to the junk yard where they brought the car. We walked around for a good half-hour trying to find it. It was only then we realized, we were standing right in front of it. That’s how damaged the car was; didn’t even recognize it.
The way it looked, you’d think no one got out alive.
We retrieved our luggage and equipment, but we were still far from home.
Next step, call the Pennsylvania State Police, give our friends’ names and campsite, to inform them what happened and, come and get us.
Two cars, eight people, filled with equipment left New Jersey less than twenty-four-hours ago. Now, within an hour, one car, eight people, filled with equipment, left Pennsylvania to go home. Without a doubt, the worst car ride in the history of car rides. I think my liver still has the impression of the arm rest jammed into my side the entire way home.
So, what lessons have we learned from all this?
Do not drink and drive.
And, for the love of god, please, don’t drive off the mountain.
