It was a warm summer night in maybe 1988 (pronounced “nineteen hundred and eighty-eight”). I was probably 17. It was a great night for adventure. I had a boyfriend. He was a good kid. He had a knack for collecting some vehicles in various states of capacity for safe operation. This is same young man who had the Camaro that dropped it’s rear window on I5. Just dropped it. No warning that it was going to happen. Just a sudden increase in cabin air flow.
The vehicle of the night of this story though was a 1955 Chevy pickup. The root beer brown of the parts that still had paint were a nice contrast to the spray painted white roll bar
. It was four wheel drive. It sported those classic white steel wheels with the red and blue thin lines. The tires had more like an essence of tread. He was particularly pleased with the fact that it was a wraparound window. The back window stayed intact in this rig, but it had lots of other quirks. I’d forgotten until this VERY moment, it was started by inserting a faded wooden handled steak knife in the ignition. It was also questionable as to when doors would close fully.
And that is how I almost died. (dramatization)
Yea, so beautiful summer night. No better plan than to drive and enjoy the air. We’d stopped at Scooters on 99 in Red Bluff. I don’t remember how much petrol we sprung for, but I do remember sometimes in these days giving a gas station clerk $2, and knowing that it would equate to a measurable amount of driving fun. (Fuck, I’m old!)
I’d exited the truck on the passenger side. Befitting, since I was the passenger. I probably was in need of a nestle white chocolate candy bar. I ate SOOOO many of those as a kid. After we got back to the truck, I got in via the driver’s side. This was bad. This prevented me from making sure the quirky door that I’d exited from was properly closed.
Driving straight down 99 was not a problem. But then,…we were going to turn left on Cone Grove Road. The boy said “hang on.” So I did. Windows were down. I put my hand out the window, and firmly grasped the passenger door.
I then learned about centrifugal force. As the truck turned, the passenger door swung open taking me with it. I hit the asphalt and rolled through the middle of a highway on a busy Saturday night. There had been an 18 wheeler behind us on the road. I’m very thankful to have not been hit by it or any of the other vehicles.
Obviously, the boy was scared. His truck rolled to a stop in a move of finest irony. The push bumper stopped against a sign that remains there to this day “Please don’t litter Tehama County.”
Once I realized I was alive, all I could do was shake and laugh.
I’d rolled onto a highway at probably 40 mph, avoided being splattered by traffic, and had only scratches and bruises to show for it. I mean, there wasn’t even any ripping in my black acid wash wranglers. (I so wish I was kidding about my “fashion” choice)
And it’s THIS kinda shit that makes teens think they are invincible.
Bifocals and Barbells 