What's the worst possible thing you can imagine to happen while driving where there were no collisions and no one got hurt? How about going up a long, soaring bridge, heading above a busy port waterway when your car seizes, jerks, and you begin to lose torque, slow down, and stop?
What if it were right at the beginning phase of real rush hour?
What would you do?
Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have some answers and insights to this situation, since I just lived it, exactly, bit for bit as described above.
In my rearview mirror I could see down the hill as traffic was starting to bunch RIGHT AS IT WAS HAPPENING. I was almost to the vertex of the parabola, the very top, but only almost. I thought if I could just push it over the hump, that I could coast down to the very first exit and get out of the way. I jumped out and tried to push, but the car just laughed at me. I had to jump back in before it ran me over and started careening down the bridge.
Hazard lights on, foot on the brake, I called an emergency tow company. "I'm dead on the Vincent Thomas Bridge! What do you got?" Nothing. They told me to call 511, the roadside emergency number.
What what what? There's a roadside emergency number? FYI 511 is the roadside emergency number here in LA county.
Only they don't service the 47, which is technically the highway for which the VT Bridge connects San Pedro and Terminal Island. Thanks, I guess. Good on you for, er, your other work...?
It was about here I made the decision: I would start to slowly roll backwards down my lane, which was already FUBAR, and with cars zooming around as best and dangerously as possible.
I figured the slow roll backwards, for however dangerous, would be screwing traffic up for only ten or fifteen more minutes, as the plan was to just get off the bridge and out of the way, so I could start calling other tow companies.
I maintain it would have worked and would have been the best plan for me and for everyone else. The cop who showed up didn't exactly agree.
White Privilege Alert: the cop, when he approached my window as cars angrily sped by, said, "How you doin'?"
Thinking about such a privileged question I laughed and said, "Well, my car's dead on the bridge, so I've had better mornings."
He asked me if I was out of gas. I said No, that I lost the torque, that the car just wouldn't go anymore. I told him about calling a tow company--no dice; and then about calling 511--no dice again as, and we said this part in unison, "--they don't service the 47 and the bridges." He offered to get a truck as fast as possible, and I figured that would be accurate, a beat cop probably has more pull than a giggling and frazzled motorist ruining the mornings of many thousands of people.
It took over a half hour to get there. I sat in my car listening to sports radio and ate my breakfast. Eventually the tow guy arrived, and I snapped a picture before getting in the cab of his truck:
Corrie sent me this text after we got to talk and she could hear the laughter, ease, and whatever-ness in my voice:
What I've found most wonderful is how other adults react to the story. One lady I told almost had a panic attack right then. Another almost broke down in tears. I can imagine for people who are bridge-phobic to begin with, it would be their personal hell incarnate.
It was the fuel pump, which gives anywhere between zero and 50 seconds warning. It should be ready to day, and I only missed a few hours of work. Everyone's safe and I got a helluva story.
Were you held up Thursday morning on the 25th trying to get to the northbound 110?
That was me.
No comments:
Post a Comment