Last weekend, Captain Cavedweller and I made a trip for a family funeral. It involved driving several hours after work and we got a later start than we planned.
Of course it was pouring down rain as we left home and started our journey. By the time we had been in the car for an hour and a half, CC was holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip and muttering under his breath.
He has this little problem of not being able to see to drive at not.
Actually, it isn’t a little problem, it is a big problem, especially when I don’t want to drive at night. How am I supposed to sit in the passenger seat, eat bonbons and keep up a running dialogue about his driving abilities if I’m the one doing the driving?
As it was, the first town we came to, CC pulled off, fed me dinner and informed me I was driving the rest of the way.
Pulling back on the freeway, it took me all of 26 seconds to decide I didn’t want to drive. Not only was the rain coming down in sheets, hundreds – no thousands – of semis were on the road creating so much road splash it was impossible to see. And they were all driving approximately 37.8 miles an hour. At that rate or speed we would have reached our destination approximately two days after the funeral service was over.
In order to pass a truck, I would have to give myself a mental pep talk, hit the gas and hope for the best.
Trying to get past a truck, the phrase driving blind suddenly had an all new meaning to me. I couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t see the concrete divider in the road. Couldn’t see reflective posts. Couldn’t see lines the white or yellow lines on the road. Couldn’t even see the truck we were passing.
What I could see was similar to this, except pitch black with about 80 percent less visibility and a nice mix of road scum thrown in.
It was just fabulous.
By the time I passed half a dozen trucks, I thought CC might:
1. hyperventilate
2. leave permanent fingerprints in the dashboard he was gripping
3. have a heart attack
When I passed another truck and couldn’t see if I was on my side, the truck’s side or any side of the road, I thought I might:
1. hyperventilate
2. leave permanent fingerprints in the steering wheel I held in a death grip
3. have a heart attack
By the time we reached the next town, I pulled off and found a hotel. I’d had enough fun for one evening.
As we splashed through the rain to the door, he still hadn’t regained the ability to speak. Seizing the opportunity, I informed him I was never, ever, ever, going to drive blind again.
At least not until we end up in a similar situation.
She Who Now Has 167 New Gray Hairs
