I’m not sure that a 25 mph collision qualifies as a “car accident,” but as far as I’m concerned, if Geico had to get involved, it earns the moniker. This one happened more slowly (see 25 mph) than others I’ve been involved in, and so I had more time to examine my thoughts behind the crash.

First and foremost, I remember thinking “steer into the skid,” over and over, even as I did the opposite. The road was narrow, the ice impassable. Had I steered in the direction of the skid, I would’ve broadsided my car against the guardrail. As it stood, I just tapped the front bumper.

I didn’t jam on the brakes, either. I simply realized “you’re going to hit it.” There was no way to prevent impact without making the skid worse, and possibly spinning out of control.

Then I remember thinking: Damn Kings of Leon. Their voices on my iPod are somehow responsible.

Since I was going slowly, I didn’t do serious damage to my vehicle. There was no way to assess the damage directly after impact, though, since the road had no shoulder, and visibility was approximately 18 inches. There was also blowing snow, black ice, the whole lovely winter storm warning kit-and-kaboodle….

The rest of the trip home was the REAL nightmare.

From getting stuck behind a broken-down snow plow, to getting stranded on the snow berm the broken-down truck didn’t plow and getting winched out by two good samaritans, then fighting my failing windshield wipers to no avail and driving over a mile with my head stuck out the driver’s side window, like a damn dog….

This was my Monday night.

Tuesday morning, the roads were bone dry. I drove in to work, wondering if what I’d gone through the night before had even happened. How was it possible  that I was stuck in 2 feet of snow, that my cheeks were snow-stung and pink with windburn? Tuesday afternoon was bright and sunny. Within twelve hours, the spring storm melted off the roadways, as if it had never been.

For a moment, I could identify–to an infintessimal degree–with victims of violent crime. On Monday night, I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I’d delayed my trip a half hour, I would’ve come in behind the snowplow, clean and easy. Instead, I’d left work a few minutes early to make sure I would make it home before dark.

It dumped again this morning, leaving drifts over my shoulder. It was just a hair shy of outrageous, shoveling a winding path through such tall snowpack at 5:30 in the morning. 

With the week I’m having, I won’t be entirely surprised to come home to green grass, robins, and daffodils in full bloom!