I had access to a couple of different vehicles once I was able to
drive. I had the sporty two door ford Fairmont, a beater work truck
with a ridiculous hand painted portrait of an elk on the door and a
nicer work truck. I usually drove the car but I would go with the
nicer work truck if it was available and the elk truck was the dregs
of my high-school rides. If it was a date night I would try and
spiff up whatever car or truck I was taking with a little low rent
detail work and maybe a spritz of my dad's old spice to make it
really fancy. One night a friend of mine and I were meeting a coupel
of girls for a movie in the next town over and I took the truck
because the weather was a lot nasty and I thought that was my best
chance to live through the night. We drove over in light snow and
watched some movie and I got to hold some hand which means basically
mission accomplished. The girls had to head strait home so we
couldn't pursue the game any further. We went out to the truck to
ride home loaded up, turned the key and not a thing happened. I
discovered that I had not turned off the lights after we parked and
the battery was flat dead. The street was pretty desolate as you
might expect in a blizzard late at night. It took me and my friend
twenty minutes to flag down a rescue truck for a jump and we were
off. The snow was made up of huge flakes that swirled and blew
reflecting the light back into the cab and making it difficult to see
the road and more importantly the side of the road.
 |
| Like this, but not so clear and it was pitch dark and plus I was terrified. |
We had driven
about two miles from the theater to the outside of town where the
street lights ended and I was creeping along trying to make it down
the road when a gust of wind blew the obviously poorly closed hood
and smashed it up against the wind shield. I am not sure if I
screamed, or peed my pants, or maybe both. I tried to stop but on the
snowy ice the truck started sliding sideways and I couldn't see a
thing. It was a helpless and terrifying feeling to be sliding
sideways in a white out waiting to see where we ended. We slid to a
stop on the side of the road and we got composed shut the hood and
tried to finish the drive home. We got about halfway home and I was
leaning far forward to try and see through the snow when another gust
slammed the hood back into the cab. That time I am certain I screamed
the F-word startled out of my snow trance. My friend
Dukes-of-Hazzarded out of window and jumped on the hood to close it
for good this time, we made it home with no more lid ejections. My
dad asked the next morning how it went and I told an abbreviated
version that left out the hood smashing. He said he was glad we made
it home okay. Sometime in the next days my dad noticed that the hood
of the truck was smashed up like someone had jumped on it and the
hood was creased like it had slammed into the cab. Curious, very
curious. The mystery was never solved, and I tacitly plead the fifth
while my dad raged about who could have done this to his truck.
