House of Burgess

When I was younger, I used to ask people how they would want to die if given a choice.
I got a myriad of answers of course, but after a while I determined that no matter how hard I thought about it, I’d probably never expect to die from the thing that ultimately did me in.
This thought came to mind recently as I attempted to steer my disabled sedan down a rain-soaked highway while a California Highway Patrol car pushed me down the road at speeds approaching 60 miles-per-hour.
Let me back up.
A few weeks ago, I had been planning a trip to the Bay Area. My heart sunk as I watched report after report predict that the day I had scheduled for my excursion would bring some of the heaviest rains in months to the region.
I hoped against all reason that the storms would pass us by and the rays of sunshine would chase away the increasingly ominous bank of clouds streaming over the mountains.
Spoiler alert: They didn’t.
As I peeked out my window the morning of the big day, the sound of fat raindrops hitting the glass with machine-gun intensity made me contemplate a change of plans. However, it was at this point that my reasons for going on the trip drifted from “fun voyage” to a “mission.”
As my fiancée Ash and I barreled down the highway, the rain slapping against my windshield in sheets seemed to be forming into a taunting laugh that started as a polite chuckle and ended up as a full-on teary-eyed guffaw by the time I reached the Oakland area.
We were almost there when I made a big mistake. Thinking the four open lanes on the right-hand side of the highway represented a golden opportunity to pass the line of slow-moving cars bunched up in the carpool lanes, I sped through the great open divide with as much gusto as my soaking-wet four-cylinder engine could muster.
That’s when the real trouble started.
About half-a-second afterwards I realized why no one else had followed me into the fray: the open space was really a foot-and-a-half deep pond that extended over nearly the entire breadth of the roadway. I suddenly comprehended my mistake and tried to get out of the puddle as fast as I could. I could hear my poor car screaming “Are you kidding me right now?” as the engine sputtered and wheezed. I was just out of the worst of it when the inner workings of the automobile inevitably gave way to the rushing water spraying from down below.
This was not good.
Suddenly, we found ourselves blocking one of the only two open lanes of traffic. People behind us began to honk angrily as if we didn’t know that our car had died in the middle of the road.
“Thanks,” I said, waving at them with five fingers as they passed by, returning my gesture with four less. “Thanks so much for telling me. And a good day to you, sir!”
Not knowing what else to do, I dialed 9-1-1 and asked for help. Just as I began talking to the operator I heard a knock on the door.
I hung up and opened the door to a saintly truck driver who offered to push off to a dry spot on the shoulder a few feet ahead. I gladly obliged and as I put the car in ‘neutral’ I heard the kiss of our bumpers. We only continued this bump and grind for about 100 yards before coming to rest on a deserted patch of asphalt far away from the puddle.
After thanking him profusely, he went on his way and I tried to figure out how long I had to wait before I could start my car again. I determined that I had to let it dry out, so Ash and I decided to wait a few minutes longer before trying it again.
Then came another rapping at the door.
Apparently while we had been stopped, a CHP officer had pulled up behind us. He, like the truck driver, told us to put the car in ‘neutral’, put on our seatbelts and roll down the windows to await further instructions.
Unlike the truck driver, he made us go faster than I would have signed up for.
As we began moving, I held the steering wheel with white knuckles, using all my might to control a car without power steering or brakes. The officer began shouting directions through the amplified speaker attached to the outside of his cruiser.
As I strained my ears to catch his garbled speech I began wondering if it was too late to make a last will and testament.
As my speedometer passed 20 then 30 then 40, I saw that we were coming to the top of a hill and we didn’t seem to be slowing down, if anything, we seemed to be gaining speed.
As we crested the top of the hill I saw a slow-moving cadre of cars in front of us. We were going roughly the same speed as them, but I figured if any one of them decided to slow down or stop in front of us there wouldn’t be much I could do except double-check my seatbelt and re-open a dialogue with my creator.
This is it, I thought as we passed the 50 mark on the dials, this is how it ends.
I tapped the brakes ever so slightly in an effort to curb our increasingly rapid descent.
“No brakes!” came the suddenly clear voice from behind us. The fact that the officer would be the top piece of bread in the Rob/Ash sandwich that would be instantly constructed if we did crash into one of the cars in front of us didn’t give me much comfort.
We were nearly three-fourths of a mile from the start of our police-assisted ride when we were told to turn off on the first exit. The cruiser pulled back a bit as I decelerated as quickly as I could. We finally rolled to a stop in the parking lot of a nice-looking hotel. The officer told us to wait a few minutes and then sped off.
It took us a few moments of bewildered silence to realize that we were still residents of this mortal coil.
We walked to the lobby of the hotel and wondered aloud to each other if the officer in question had always wanted to try something like that, but just decided that since it was an emergency situation with no one else around it might be a fun thing to try.
About an hour later, after consuming some vending machine snacks and hotel-approved reading material I tried the car and it started right up. I left the engine running for a few minutes as plumes of steam escaped out the back. After driving by the dilapidated store we had nearly died trying to get to, we decided we’d rather not chance it by leaving our car in a shady part of Oaktown.
Later that night, on our way back to Ukiah, we decided to stop in Santa Rosa and do some shopping there. We saw a movie, went out to eat and tried to make up for shock and horror of the rest of the day. We actually had a pretty good time.
So, obviously, the lesson here is never go further than an hour in any direction from your home. Ever. There’s just too much danger out there.