Danny and I are driving down to Nashville after our college Christmas break. We’re somewhere in Pennsylvania, cruising down the interstate, when the car goes into a spin. We both do what any manly college senior would do – we scream like little girls. I grip the door handle in terror as Danny fights to maintain control. The front end of the Charger slams into the guard rail. We ricochet off the railing and slide backwards down the interstate.
The Charger comes to a stop in the breakdown lane. We sit in silence, watching the scene before us as panicked drivers hit the brakes and swerve to get out of the way.
The interstate comes to a standstill. I glance over at Danny.
“Hey man, I don’t think we can park here.”
Danny flicks on the hazards. He starts the car, turns, and heads in the correct direction. The road before us is empty, the drivers behind us wisely choosing to give wide berth to a pair of jokers in a bad sports car. Danny angles across the icy highway and gets into the right-side breakdown lane. He exhales loudly.
We pull off at the next exit and get out to assess the damage. The front-left headlight is blown out, which isn’t a problem. That’s why they give you two. The hood has a slight bend in it. Danny tests the hood a few times, but it stays locked in place. We load back into the Charger and continue on our way.
* * * *
An hour later Danny is laughing and telling a story when the hood flies up. It slams against the windshield and stays there. I yelp and stare at the sheet of rusted brown metal blocking my view. I look over at Danny. He’s bent forward, trying to see underneath the curved bottom of the hood. His arms make quick little corrections on the wheel as he guides us into our new best friend, the breakdown lane.
Fortunately, we stuck to the slow lane after the last incident. It seems that Logic class we both barely passed last semester was good for something.
Danny grinds to a halt. We get out and examine the hood. It’s pressed up against the windshield and the top third, which is bent backwards, is now parallel to the roof. We each grab a side and pull the hood back down.
I offer to drive. We putter down the breakdown lane with our hazards flashing, watching the hood bounce and waiting for it to attack once again. I sit as upright as possible and peer over the tip of the hood, which is bent upward.
“Well,” I say as we look for the next exit, “this should help cut down on the bug splats.”
* * * *
Two hours later we’re back on the road. We’ve got three industrial-strength bungies strapped across the hood, which shakes like an angry, restrained animal whenever the Charger exceeds fifty miles-per-hour.
This means that our little side adventure will need to be cancelled. On each trip we always visit some random place we find on the map. Last Spring we drove through the mountains of West Virginia, sticking to small county roads. The highlight of the trip occurred in a tiny town as we stood outside the car at a service station, pumping gas. One by one, like something out of a zombie movie, people came out of their ramshackle houses and stood on their porches, watching us. Danny looked at me and said, “Why is everyone staring at us?” I had no answer to this. Maybe they were checking out our ten-year-old Charger with envy.
* * * *
We drive through the night, trading turns driving. One hour behind the wheel is the maximum our bodies can endure. Sitting upright and staring over the tip of the hood is excruciating on the lower back and neck. In addition, the single headlight makes for poor visibility, so we both focus all our attention on the road. We cruise through the dark, slowly and cautiously, like moonshine runners looking for trouble.
The next morning we reach Nashville. We exit the car, tired and sore. But we’ve got a great story to tell. Which is the main reason to take any long trip.
HA! Please don’t offer to drive me anywhere.
This is why I’m chauffeur driven everywhere. My driver can have the experiences while I sleep!
ROAD TRIP!! Wahoo!!
And then you write about people taking driving lessons!? HA HA! OMG! This is why they came up with the saying, “Boys will be boys!”
Bungie cords? Too good for duck tape, eh?