Back in a Bit

“In the first year of driving, one driver in five is involved in an accident“

That nugget of wisdom comes straight from the Driving Standards Agency, and they should know. Were the world more symmetrical, four other new drivers would sleep a little easier tonight.

Shortly after leaving work this evening, on a dark and wet country lane, my beloved Daisy and I had something of a disagreement. She’s not at her best in the wet (and I’m not at my best in the dark), so we pootled along while I made polite conversation with my trusty car-sharing colleague (car-sharing in that I drive the car and he does the sharing).

Rather too suddenly for my liking, Daisy took to the idea of leaping to the right. In the next few seconds, my passenger screamed and dug his fingers into my shoulder as I wrestled the steering wheel. There was a lot of spinning, banging, and bouncing up and down. Things within the car flew around, including the glasses off my face and my Mac off the back seat. While trying to make sense of the situation, I was recalling random bits of sensible advice, and was doing my best to steer into the skid, take my thumbs out from inside the steering wheel, and go gently on those pre-ABS breaks.

Hedge. Sky. Another hedge. Silence.

There was an awkward moment as the two of us waited to see if we were dead. Another awkward moment to see if each other were dead. One final awkward moment while we assess whether or not we were in pain. I retrieve my glasses and cigarette, and shoulder-barge open my door.

The car had ended up half on the soft grass verge to the right, with its back end sticking awkwardly into the road. When I got back in to attempt to move her, I noticed the leatherette-clad hole where the gear-stick used to be. Hardly surprisingly, she was in no mood to start.

At first, I was at a loss as to what had just taken place. I could see the end result, obviously, but how I got there was mysterious. Did I mess up? Did I drift left and bounced off the verge? Had we rolled? Why was I not in pain? Aren’t car crashes supposed to involve lots of flying glass? It all seemed so surreal. But of course, surreal breeds surreal.
A car pulled up behind the remains of my own. I recognise instantly that it’s another Rover 214. Birds of a feather, I thought. Out steps a man in an orange safety jacket. He says he’s got a Range Rover and he could pull me out soon enough. In my confused state, I utter “but… but… that’s not a Range Rover!”

Within ten minutes, the man returned in a genuine bonafide Range Rover with an orange-safety-jacket-wearing friend, and we scrabbled around in the dark to rig up the tow-line. It was as they attempted to turn the steering in the direction of the road that they both became quite interested in the underside of the car. I had also noticed that the steering seemed somewhat stiff but, when they pointed out that one of the steering bars had snapped, things began to fall into place.

Mid-crash, I had been surprised that I hadn’t been able to regain control. I cut my driving teeth on winding Pembrokeshire lanes, for goodness sake – I’ve pulled through my share of muddy sliding sensations. It’s not a complicated thing to do, it’s really just a question of having the presence of mind to do it when it counts. Well, I was sure that I had, and yet still couldn’t avoid the wreck. But, of course, all the evasive action in the world won’t help you straighten up if you don’t have steering.

Back when I was learning, I was practising my three-point turn on a disused airfield when the driveshaft snapped. All concerned were surprised at it, for usually it takes considerable stress for such thing to happen. We wondered, at the time, if anything else was weak at the front of the car, but nothing was obvious and I thought no more about it.

One of the nice orange men manned the Range Rover as the other one helped me be towed. “You obviously know what you’re doing: are you mechanics?” I asked, trying to make sense of it all. “No no no,” came the reply, ” we’re landscape gardeners.”

Daisy finished the day in a nearby car-park used mainly by dog-walkers. Her next journey will be to the breakers’, on the back of a lorry. I can’t help pondering her choice of timing. This happened just as her MOT comes up – a test we all suspected she wouldn’t pass. This happened as she was running better than I’ve ever known. This happened just as I was negotiating on her replacement. This happened just as she was almost out of petrol.

This happened, and I walked away.