I decided right away that I was ready to whirl around and punch him with a fist full of car keys if I heard his footfalls behind me after I passed by. Thankfully, he continued to mess around on his phone, or at least pretend to, and I didn't have to do anything.
Because I keep odd hours, I’m normally really good about maintaining situational awareness when I’m out and about. What bothered me the most about last night’s Haaf ramp experience was that I kind of let this one slip, so it was nice that the guy wasn't up to anything particularly bad -that I know of. The weird thing is that mine was the only car parked on the top and second to top level of the parking structure, aside from the city fleet vehicles that are stored there, so I’m not really sure what this guy was even doing on that floor of the ramp in the first place. He sure didn't seem to have a car anywhere close by.
That sure got my blood pumping. After I got in my car and drove by the spot where he had been lurking about, I saw that he had gone, and caught just a glimpse of him as the elevator doors closed with him inside. Maybe I surprised him as much as he surprised me… I don’t know.
Anyway, it turns out, that little jolt was just what I needed to safely navigate my way to the gym and then home after work. My situational awareness antennae was working overtime and so, I was acutely aware of just about everything around me… particularly, the lousy road surface I was driving on when I left the ramp.
The name of the game in Minneapolis last night was glare ice. For those of you from warmer climes, glare ice, also known as black ice, is what you get when daytime temps are warm enough that falling snow or already accumulated snow gets melty and coats all the outdoor surfaces with water. The sun goes down, the temperature drops, the wind picks up, and the wind chill gets brutal, and that’s when that damp coating of water on the roadways freezes into a fine finish of ice. There is very little traction to be had on this stuff, so driving on it can be particularly treacherous when trying to stop the momentum of one’s car as it slides around. I made it to the gym, where I got out my boxing gloves and pummeled the punching bag as practice for if I ever have to throw down while walking to my car, then I did a kickboxing boot camp workout video, which I’m sure annoyed the two other people who happened to be in the gym at the time, because playing it switched the music that had been pumping over the speakers to the audio from the workout DVD. Personally, I find the instructor’s Aussie accent charming, but I can’t speak for the other two night owls at the gym who had to listen to it in the background of their exercise routines. Well, whatever, I was keyed up and needed an outlet… besides, I don’t complain when the guy who uses the free weights grunts and groans all dramatically ALL THE TIME, so I felt justified with my choice of activity.
I made it safely home after the gym, but you’d better believe I was ready for a fight on that walk across the gym parking lot to my car after my boxing and boot camp kickboxing activities. I maintained that readiness on the jaunt from my garage into the house when I got home.
So, we’ll never know how I would have fared in a fight with the creepy parking ramp lurker, but I did defeat the glare ice last night. That wasn't always the case though. About fifteen years ago, I had a very bad experience with glare ice. That time, I definitely did not win.
What you’re looking at in the photo is what was left of my 1989 Ford Bronco II. That Bronco was the used car I drove for most of high school and into college for the first year or two of undergrad. I loved that little rig, even though I realize it had some real shortcomings in terms of mechanical design and safety.
The Bronco II was kind of a comeback of the original Bronco compact SUV that Ford made in the mid sixties into the mid seventies, only not as cool, nor as collectible. It was smaller than the big Broncos like the white one made famous in the OJ Simpson low-speed chase that took place for all to see in the late 1990’s. The Bronco II shared an awful lot in common with the Ford Ranger, in fact.
In 1989, a Bronco II with 4x4, like mine was had a starting MSRP of around $15,000 -less for a 2WD version of it. Under the hood was a 2.9L V6 that produced 140 HP and 170 lb-ft of torque. As lacking in performance as those specs seem to be, you might think that it would have a trade off of decent fuel economy, at least. Well, no, it didn't. 16/20 MPG was the estimated rating, but the way I drove when I was 15 years younger, those numbers went down by a few MPGs.
Prior to the tragedy that befell my Bronco II, it had been an adorable little two-tone maroon and silver 4x4, all stubby and stocky looking. Even though it was four or five years old by the time my parents purchased it for my siblings and I to drive, it looked fantastic, and I was a demon about washing and waxing it on a regular basis. That top-heavy, stockiness that I found attractive about the rig also contributed to the bad reputation these things gained for how easy it was to roll one over.
Don’t go off thinking that I totaled my Bronco II in a simple rollover, though. Mine didn't roll sideways like the Bronco II was prone to do. I flipped mine end over end… backwards, off an interstate bridge and down a ravine, at interstate speed. My Bronco cart wheeled -or rather, back flipped for at least two and a half rotations before its axis skewed and it then heaved sideways for a rotation or two, crushing four little sapling trees before coming to a halt on its side.
What triggered this feat of automotive acrobatics? Glare ice. The roadways were fine when I set out that day, driving toward my parent’s home in Iowa after visiting my sister in Minneapolis all those years ago. It was winter, and there was some moisture on the roadways, but it hadn't frozen yet, even after the sun went down. What I didn't think about though, was the fact that certain parts of the road were more apt to freeze up than others… like bridges. With all that cool air circulating underneath, there’s no geothermal warmth to keep that mist on the surface of the bridge from turning into glare ice. So, when I was cruising along in my Bronco II, perfectly stable and sure-footed on the interstate, I lost control when my vehicle lost traction on the surface of the bridge. The tires slipped, but then one rear wheel found some purchase. The vehicle slid and fish-tailed. I felt a surge in my belly, the likes of which signal an acute sense of doom. The Bronco’s one rear wheel that grabbed traction caused the entire rig to whip around and flip its forward momentum into a backwards slide to the shoulder of the road where it met with the end of the bridge, from which the land fell away to a steep ravine.
For a moment, I felt weightless. I realized immediately that my car was tipping down the ravine, lifting me up in the air as if I was strapped in for a carnival ride. Though it happened quickly, I can clearly remember my thoughts as if I had enjoyed a great deal of time in which to ponder the situation. First thought: “Oh shit“, followed quickly by the second: “My car is ruined!” Then, oddly enough, a thrill as I considered the fact that I had never been in a major wreck before, and on the bright side, it would amount to at least some kind of learning experience… if I survived. “Aww crap!” was the next thing that entered my mind.. That pesky survival instinct that ruins all kinds of smashing good fun had arrived, and it brought with its friend, panic. “Close your eyes, You probably shouldn't see this“, I told myself as the angle of the ever-rising Bronco passed the tipping threshold for its first rotation, and time slowed even further for just a second before suddenly, it hit what seemed like warp speed, and my car began its end over end tumble down the ravine.
The noise I heard was unforgettable; the thrashing sound of the ravine’s tall, snow covered grass snapping and crushing down as the weight of the toppling car ripped at its brittle winter remnants. And finally, there seemed to be an explosion of blue sparks and silence.
I opened my eyes to surroundings that seemed so much darker than I recalled when I had first approached the bridge. I was in an awkward position, and soon realized this was because my car lay on its side at the bottom of the ravine where it rested upon crushed vegetation. There was a spray of snow on the dashboard and steering wheel, and much more of it by my head, forming a frigid pillow where the driver’s side window had been. I was distressed by this broken window business and took a moment to utter some curses before orienting myself. I realized the little Bronco was lying on its driver’s side in the snow, but somehow, it hadn't occurred to me that the missing window was the least of the damage to the vehicle.
“Dummy! Worrying about the window?” I then thought, “what if I’m paralyzed or really hurt?” A sense of dread consumed me momentarily, and I was afraid to move. That passed in short order, and I unfastened my seat belt and easily located my coat, as it had flopped against the door next to me during the accident. I maneuvered around a bit and planted my feet in the pillow of snow where my window had been, then climbed the bench seat to reach what was now the skyward facing plane of my car, the passenger side.
I opened the passenger side door, impressed by the weight of it. I had never before realized how large my car’s doors were, and experienced some difficulty pushing it open far enough to pull myself up an out onto the upturned passenger side. Of course, I later found out that these efforts could have been saved simply by crawling through the space where the windshield had been. It hadn't occurred to me that the entire pane of glass was missing.
I remember sitting atop the side of my car for a moment or two after I climbed up from inside, kind of pulsing and shaking as I looked around and bled onto the silver portion of the painted fender. It was the dead of night, but the ground was covered in snow, which reflected the moonlight. I felt a sweeping sense of relief when I realized that my Bronco’s headlights were still working and augmenting the moon glow that was reflecting white, glittery light from the snow on the ground. For a moment, I even thought that perhaps just uprighting the car and fixing a few dents and dings might make things all better.. I was unaware of the fact that the plural no longer applied to the little truck’s lighting array, as the passenger side headlight sat a few feet away in the snow. The area illuminated was pale gold and sparkling white, the combination of the snow over dried grass and weeds.
Several dark clods dotted the light landscape, and I realized they were not actually clods of dirt like I first thought. That’s my stuff, I realized. Just as I was wondering where certain items of my luggage were, an alarming thought struck. My car is on its side. I've just been in an accident. What if it blows up like pretty much every car accident in every movie I've ever seen? Better run! my instincts screamed inside my head, and I plopped down from the rolled Bronco, landing on soft squishy grass-padded snow next to the underside of my car. A shoe was lost as I scrambled away from the vehicle, slipping, sliding, and clawing my way up the ravine. I was fine more or less, with a few cuts and scrapes and a mild concussion. I flagged down a truck driver when I reached the roadway. As I sat in his truck while he called State Patrol, I felt stupid for fleeing from my overturned car like I had -kind of traitorous, almost. It hadn't blown up as I feared it would, and now, there it sat, all by its lonesome at the bottom of the slope.
The fact that I’m around to write this is a testament to what a great invention seat belts are. The next day, my parents, who were less sympathetic about the fact that I had been involved in an accident than they were pissed off at me for wrecking the car, got in touch with a family friend who owns a towing and collision repair business. Friends who know my dad can probably imagine the words that came out of his mouth when he found out about it:“God dammit! Val!” -a phrase that was practically my dad’s mantra when I was in my youth. Together, we trekked out to the scene to haul my Bronco out of the ravine. Our friend and his crew had to use his flatbed tow truck’s winch plus three or four very long tow straps and a couple of tow chains just to reach my car from the roadway. I watched as they tipped it back onto its wheels, then repositioned the chains to drag it up and out of the ravine. We counted and measured the indentations in the snow leading from the edge of the bridge and down the ravine to track the movement and flips of the Bronco, and that’s how we figured out just what my car’s gymnastics routine had consisted of.
The lesson to take from this is to just be careful in the cold. Even when you think the roads are fine, keep in mind that the bridges are colder yet. Glare ice is such a fine, thin sheet on the surface of the road that by the time you realize its there, you've probably already lost traction…. And wear your seat belt, for God’s sake -they really are handy things.
To this day, when I cross over that bridge along Southbound I-35, I can practically hear the echo from all that thrashing about as my Bronco crashed, crushed, and flipped its way down the grassy, snowy ravine all those years ago, and I can’t help but think of that little SUV and the last time I ever drove it.
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