Hit and Runs.....

I started drunk driving at age 14. I remember most weekends sneaking out my bedroom window after my Mom had fallen asleep and the night would begin. I put her Toyota Cressida in neutral, rolled it out of sight, and was off to the races. In the early days it was all about joy riding. Once we found the liquor for the night, we would test the car's ability to do donuts in parking lots, go air born off ramps, or see if the speedometer really went to 120 mph. We actually went the distance to make sure our tracks were clear by detaching the odometer, refueling to the exact place the gage was when we left, and cleaning up all vomit, alcohol, mud, clothes, or other aftermath. In one case where I had sideswiped another vehicle I thought for sure I would be busted except for the fact that the next morning my Mom didn't notice and even for several weeks, until she assumed it was a parking lot accident where someone left the scene.

Though I was fortunate to miss many close calls, and today I am grateful that no one was in the way of my reckless rampage, I would end up paying a price.

I would end up totaling or losing to the impound 4 vehicles before my rampage was over. That was not to mention a total of 6 hit and run accidents. I escaped a few other mishaps like flying off the road into a pile of mud, ripping off my drivers side door accidentally, and I assume a number of things that only God knows being that I often woke up at the steering wheel at 8 a.m. unaware of how I got there.

One night I was leaving a party around 1 a.m. I certainly had drunk beyond the limit and had several other substances in my system. I stopped to pick up some nachos at the gas station before I headed home. Little did I know I would be sobered before the night was over.

I was driving along 9th street, no seat belt, in my steal green 1969 AMC Rambler at about 40 mph eating my nachos. Then the lights went out. The next thing I know I am on the floor of the car and the car is stopped. It was as if I woke from a sleep to a very bad dream. I could not feel my head and had no idea where I was or what happened. When I crawled back up to the drivers seat I saw smoke and steam bellowing from the hood of the car. I could smell anti-freeze and could taste blood. I was afraid to look in the mirror not knowing if I would recognize who I saw. I just reached up to touch my face and blood covered my hand.

I heard commotion from a gas station across the street and suddenly realized I could be in serious trouble. Did I hit another person? Car? House? I did not want to know and did not want this night to end in jail as I had just been there a few months earlier. I tried the ignition and the car started. I sped out of there in a worse state than I was in before I left the party. It was like an out-of-body experience. The car was leading and my spirit was just there to see where I was going. I just drove and drove and drove crying out into the now dark country road sky. I had not prayed for a long time. That night I cried hard that if "God" was listening He would save me. I can't remember ever crying harder thinking that my time was over and that my life amounted to nothing.

I pleaded for one more chance and by that point my car had finally sputtered to a stop. The radiator fluid had completely emptied and smoke was spiraling into the full moonlight. I walked to a light where a gas station was and used the pay phone to call the only girl whose compassion would bring her out of bed to pick me up. Angie and I had dated for 5 years through all of this rugged journey and had never once criticized me though I deserved some hard words. I heard her sob, as if for my soul, as she held my bloody face in her towel until I eventually passed out.



I woke up the next morning with a gaping wound on my chin and a second chance in life... again. Angie was still there by my side in the most unbelievable way. Like Shane, Dan, my Dad, Bob, and soon others, she would save me in a time I was indeed nothing.

We drove down 9th street that morning and saw the parked car I had crushed. The rear bumper was smashed into the back seat and the car was sent air born 50 ft into a yard, according to the police report.

This would not be the last second chance as it was that "God" had heard my cry, and certainly not the last time I would make a girl cry.