One in a million chance

I didn’t plan to ever post about this experience but now it looks like it’s going to have to be done. And since I’m writing it I’m going to be participating in Mongolian Girl’s “Finish my Post Challenge” over at The Cusp. So you could go over there and read this. Or you could open both sites at once and read it in stereo. Or maybe you could read one paragraph at The Cusp and then one paragraph here. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter how you read it… the important thing was the writing of it.

It all went down about a week ago during Turn and Burn 1 and I have spent the past few days trying to put it out of my mind. But every time I go back to the place where it happened it forces itself forward to be noticed. Not in a big flashy way… more like how I felt extremely uneasy every time I fueled in Laramie, WY for the first few months after Matthew Shepard’s death. Maybe writing this will ease it into the background for good. That’s my hope, anyway.

We were at our fuel stop in Connecticut. The guy in front of me had finished and pulled forward. I pulled up to the pumps, but as sometimes happens he hadn’t really pulled forward far enough and I had to get quite close to the rear end of his trailer to make sure the fuel hoses would reach my tanks. I think this is sometimes caused by people that have never driven anything but Freightliners. The fuel tank opening on most Freightliners is right under the doors so you don’t need to pull very far forward. They may not realize that the opening on Volvo fuel tanks is back behind the cab so you have to be a lot farther forward in a Volvo. Our new Crapscadia has the fuel tanks’ opening basically in between the two. Anyway I had to pull quite close to his truck to reach the tanks, but there was still just enough room for me to walk in between our trucks easily.

I asked Stace what she wanted from the Wendy’s and got out to take care of business. I emptied the trash. Cleaned the windows. Fueled the tanks. Guy in front of me was still sitting there so I figured it would be a while before he was done and decided I would go ahead and get our food before moving our truck forward. I hung the driver’s side fuel hose back on the pump and stepped toward the front of the truck. I stopped for just a second to lock the driver’s door because it was quite late at night.

Then I walked the couple of steps to the front of the truck and turned right toward the building. My mind was busy trying to figure out what I could force myself to eat from Wendy’s. I took one step between our two trucks when my brain suddenly screamed, “get out!” I jumped backwards and started waving my arms around in the air and yelled. His truck had started moving backwards forcefully. I don’t know if he slammed on his brakes because he saw me waving my arms around in the air or if something else caught his attention, but when he stopped he was about six inches away from our grill.

Wow. Six inches. I would have been completely crushed if I had been between the two trucks. I would have been dead. Six inches between those two trucks. Only six inches.

His truck didn’t just roll backwards. I’ve seen many trucks roll backwards in a fuel island. Hell I’ve done it myself. When you roll backwards you start moving really slowly. That’s not what happened here. He started moving with purpose and speed. All I can figure is that he was really tired and thought he was in first when he was actually in reverse. And he let off the brake and gave it some fuel which would explain why he started backwards so fast. I don’t know what else could explain it.

A big truck is about eight feet across. I had barely had time to jump back one step before he was virtually right against our grill. If I had been halfway across the area between our trucks when he started moving… well… I wouldn’t be here today. I never could have made it to safety on either side of the trucks. I have no doubt whatsoever on that fact.

And here’s the thing… I can’t remember the last time I stopped to lock the driver’s side door when Stace was awake. I always do if she’s asleep, of course, but usually if it’s obvious that she’s awake I don’t bother with it cause nobody is going to mess with the truck while she’s sitting there. It had probably been months since I locked it when she was awake. But this time I stopped and took the two or three seconds that it took to lock that door. If I hadn’t I would have been at least one or possibly two more steps farther into the killing zone when his truck started moving. There are very few things about which you will hear me say, “That saved my life,” but stopping to lock that door is one of them.

It just keeps popping into my head that I was about three seconds away from being one of those tragic stories in “The Trucker” about the utterly freak accident that is such a bizarre combination of events no one could have anticipated it. I seriously don’t want to go out that way. I mean like everyone else I don’t want to go out at all, of course, but I really don’t want to go out in some senseless freak accident.

I’m more grateful than I can say that I didn’t.