It was the kind of morning that made me want stay under the covers and forget all about my morning commute. The snow and ice were piling up fast on the roads for the bazillionth day in a row and despite the new tires I got for Christmas (that’s how you know you’re an adult, by the way: tires for Christmas!), I was fishtailing just trying to get out of my own parking lot. I had two choices: I-15 or Geneva Road. The freeway, I reasoned would be cleaner. Surely the state would have plowed it better and it would have been well-travelled in the morning rush. Geneva Road on the other hand, has a slower speed limit and there were fewer cars. The fact that I was already 15 minutes late for work and it would be a dicey commute either way made my choice for me, I had to go the faster route.
I carefully made my way to I-15 the on ramp, noting my good fortune that the line was short and that everyone else was queueing up in the lane to my left. I wondered momentarily if they knew something I didn’t. Before I could give it too much more thought, the light turned green and off I went. Half way down the ramp, I realized that I made the wrong choice, but once you’re on that ramp there’s no turning back. I tried frantically to right myself as my back tires skidded dangerously and I was suddenly sliding down the ramp sideways and backwards. I could see the faces of the others drivers in expressions of sympathy and fear as they swerved to miss me. All I could think was that I should have taken Geneva Rd.
Adrenaline pumping, I entered the freeway. “Ok,” I thought to myself, “all you have to do is get to the next exit and you’re good. Just stick right here in the slow lane and you’re home free.” It would have taken a crowbar to get my hands off the wheel as I picked my way up the farthest right lane. But I was starting to fishtail again. It was true that the freeway was clearer than the residential roads, but the only place to push snow off the freeway is to move it to the sides. And there I was, right in the thick of it. I couldn’t have been going more than 40 mph, but to be honest, I don’t really know. The lane to my left was obviously clearer and I made the split second decision to get out of the murk. Suddenly, I was spinning out of control. The concrete barrier came up before I had time to even react. I hit it head on and came to rest headed south in north bound traffic.
I’ve been hit enough times to know what damaging impact sounds like. It was bad. I mean, I’m not really a math person but a car moving at 40 mph + concrete wall = disaster. Still, I didn’t dare get out of the car in the lousy conditions to look. I only had to wait about 10 seconds before an officer pulled up, obviously responding to the 3 similar accidents I could see in my rearview mirror. He made sure I was ok and took a quick look at the car before he asked if I knew where the Highway Department building was. I did, and he blocked traffic while I got myself headed the right direction.
Sitting in the parking lot, I called my boss to tell him I wouldn’t be coming in. I was pretty sure I had destroyed the front end of my car and really thought I was better off getting the paperwork dealt with and just going home. The officer in the office came out to take a look at the damage to assess whether I should be cited for damaging city property. I’m sure he’d looked at enough smashed up cars to be able to tell what sort of mark I’d left on the barrier. We waded through the ankle deep snow to take look at what I’d done to my poor Sugar. (Yeah, I’m the girl who names her cars...and let’s be honest, that little red Honda was so sweet on the lot, I just had to have her! The heated seats, sun-roof, perky little spoiler, fuel economy.... I could go on and on... It was love at first sight!) I wasn’t pleased. There was a gash in the bumper deep enough I was pretty sure I could see daylight through it and it was pretty well torn off on the passenger side. Still, it could have been worse. Then I noticed that hood was obviously crooked. It and the front end were no longer exactly parallel. Ugh. I knew what that meant: the frame was probably bent and the car could be a total loss. It had been as bad as it sounded. I might have just murdered my girl. The officer was kind enough not to cite me and the wounded Sugar and I dragged ourselves home.
Within a few days, I was visiting body shops to see what could be done. I was more than prepared to have someone tell me it was all over for her. I must have visited at least 5 places gathering quotes. Every single one of them told me exactly the same thing. Sugar had done exactly what all Hondas do: performed perfectly in an accident. The bumper had taken all the damage and had come off in a way that didn’t even ruin the brackets that held it on. “Oh, yeah,” one body guy had told me, “take a look under here.” He pulled back the torn part of my bumper and handed me a flashlight. “Can you see the foam in there? It’s not even crushed. Hondas are great if you’re going to get in accident. They design them so that all this just breaks away and your engine doesn’t take any of the impact.”
I confess I was surprised. I had gotten my Honda knowing it had a great safety rating but I didn’t really think there was that much of a difference between how my pretty little Accord had fared and the way any of rest of the cars on the road would have done in similar circumstances. Later that week, though, I was talking to a friend about what had happened. I was grateful, of course, but bemoaning a little the $1,000+ it was probably going to take to get Sugar back to her glory. “Are you kidding?!” my friend asked, shocked. “A couple of years ago, I got in a little fender-bender in my Corolla and it cost me $4,000 to fix!” I suddenly felt even luckier to be a Honda owner. Not only had Sugar kept me safe on that snowy morning, she was so well-designed that even though I’d done my best to bash the life right out of her, fixing her would cost a fraction of what I might have paid if I’d gotten one of the other cars I’d considered... She really was the perfect car and I fell in love with her all over again.
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