The day before we left, Jenelle got in the car to go to work and quickly learned she had a flat left-front tire. It's a good thing she only made it just past our driveway. She pulled it back in and took another vehicle while I used our air-compressor to pump it back up. I took it to the tire shop and together we decided to get four new tires since the tread on all of them was getting low.
The next day we packed and left. Although we didn't get out as soon as I would have liked, we were still on track to make it to the beach by sunset.
We geared up for a long drive—almost eight hours. We brought snacks, music, conversation, as well as the license plate game. We watched the scenery change from snow-packed mountains to creosote bushes in an arid desert landscape.
But while driving, something else began to happen. We began receiving clues that our daughter might unexpectedly be flying home from El Salvador that evening. First it was a missed call from her early in the morning. Then it was news from others like her in Central America who were being ordered to come home. Then it was an email from her asking us to call a foreign phone number—which call we were unable to make work. Jenelle made several phone calls, but any attempt to contact my daughter was futile. To say the least, we were very preoccupied.
During these circumstances, we drove south on I-15 between the Cima Road and Baker, California. Traffic seemed to be busy as usual, especially with large semi trucks hauling freight.
Moving at 80 mph, I checked my left mirror and then began to switch to the left lane. That's when Jenelle yelled, “Watch out!!!” A small car moved up from my blind spot and I about ran into him. Quickly I corrected back to my lane, but when I did our car began to fishtail. Like driving on an icy road, my rear tires began to slide to the right—and once I corrected the wheel they slid to the left. For a split second I thought I had regained control, but our backside still hadn't gained traction. At any moment now I anticipated we would flip. Going at this speed, who knows how many times we would roll!
The entire sequence felt eternal, but in reality may have lasted only ten seconds. Finally we regained full control and all I could do was heave a sigh of relief. We had survived!
For the next couple hours I drove at least 5 mph slower than I had before. I did not change lanes unless I was sure I had a BIG gap. I will admit that my confidence had shrunk to that of a 15-year old driver.
I couldn't help but to feel grateful to still be driving along the freeway. I envisioned the scene had we rolled, with luggage and cooler strewn across the side of the road. If that had happened perhaps we would be in an ambulance now, or maybe dead. Whichever the case, it wouldn't be good.
And then I thought about the tires.
With the fishtailing we did on that road at 80 mph—if we still had the same old worn tires—then there's no doubt they would have blown, and undoubtedly we would have rolled. Without question, getting that flat tire the day before was a blessing in disguise and may have saved our lives.
Our guardian angel was watching over us that day. I'm grateful for that because sometimes I'm not sure if I deserve it. I made the comment to Jenelle that maybe Brittany was the one who flattened our tire. She agreed. ♠
No comments:
Post a Comment