mr. toad's wild ride

Was driving my wife's car the other night, which I don't like to do. This is due to a few facts:

1) First, it's somewhat of a chick car, and I'm only so comfortable with my masculinity. Granted, it's a sporty chick car, but it's still a chick car.

2) Second, the gas pedal is in a somewhat narrow space between the brake and the center divider, making it so that when I wear my (somewhat wider than normal) Doc Martins, my foot will sometimes get stuck while accelerating.

3) Third, the low beams aren't all that strong for some reason. This last one is the important one.

It was night, and I was driving a stretch of highway that is under construction. As a result, the lanes are constantly jogging left and right. This is OK during the daytime, but at night it can sometimes be hard to tell which reflectors are telling you to turn, which reflectors are telling you that you're about to drive on the shoulder, and which reflectors just happen to be left there because the construction people didn't think to put them away for the night. Driving back, I had my low beams on at one point because a) I was following someone, and b) I'm not a jerk. Hence, my vision wasn't all it could have been.

At that point, the story got interesting. Driving happily, driving happily, what? Oh s**t, the road's turning. Why weren't there any arrows? Turn wheel gently. Make the turn, but don't overcompensate and lose control of the car. Oh s**t. The road's not turning. That's why there were no arrows. Damn reflectors. Turn wheel back, so as to not drive straight off the side of the road. Turn more, you aren't going to make it. Be careful, since the studded tires will slide easily on the dry asphalt. Phew, I'm going to make...s**t. Fish tail. Gently turn into the skid. Regaining control...oh bugger, never mind.

And as I recommence my fishtail, the thought running through my mind was, crap, this is going to wear the studs down and I might not get another season out of them. Then a one-eighty, followed by the realization that I'm headed straight for a mile-marker sign, followed by thoughts of how damage to my own car isn't covered on the insurance.

Thankfully, I somehow managed to almost drive off the side of the road at 65 miles an hour, turn back onto the road, do a one-eighty, dodge a series of reflectors and a mile-marker sign, and land safely on the shoulder (though by this time I was facing oncoming traffic).

Luckily, I had listened to my wife last winter when she insisted she needed a full-sized shovel in her car in case she ever got stuck in the snow, and while I was stuck in the gravel, the end result was the same. In fact, the only downside to there being a shovel handy was having two separate people who stopped to help me ask why in the world I was carrying a shovel in the back of the car. What kind of crazy person does that? Married crazy people, that's who.