This got me thinking about someone I don’t feel I ever thanked properly. About 4 years ago, we had a late-winter snowstorm that dumped about 4" of slushy snow on the road. Pretty piddling for the northeast, I’d driven through far worse that winter. I held off going to work until about 10 am, figuring I’d give the snowplows some time to do their work.
My commute at the time was about half on rural roads and half interstate. About a mile and a half after getting on the interstate, I moved out to pass a truck that was going slowly up a long grade. No problem. Waited until I was way past him before I tried to move back over. Problem. My car fishtailed as I crossed that center line of slush that had built up between the more well-traveled lanes. I start skidding back and forth both lanes. On one pass across to the left, I hit the guard rail. And flipped over it. Ack.
My car, having gone over the edge, was no longer visible from the lanes I was traveling in (northbound). A trucker in the southbound lanes saw me go over and radioed to oncoming traffic that there was an accident, and to proceed with caution. By the time I managed to wriggle out of my destroyed car (largely unhurt…I had my seatbelt on), a trucker who had heard the warning had pulled over where he saw my skidmarks. He was standing at the top of the hill by the guardrail by the time I got out.
It turns out that he’d been on his way to the nearest truckstop when he stopped to help me. He’d just delivered his load of cargo, and his truck was empty, making it difficult to control in the snow…it was too light for good traction. This guy pulled over in the snow on the side of the interstate in a truck he wasn’t all too sure he’d get moving again to help me.
He wound up taking me to the truck stop where I called my Mom to take me to the hospital. I thanked him when we left, but I always wish there was something I could have done to let him know just how much I appreciated him putting himself at risk to help me.
So…thanks. 