The Front, the Letter, the Race and the Crash

I'm not dead, despite my best efforts.

(I love that joke).

But it's true.

***

BB's current therapy: The Hard Stuff by Wayne Kramer.

***

It's a snow day here, hoo yeah baby. Of course, I'd awakened at the usual time, showered, shaved, made breakfast, dressed myself, and roused THEBOY before I walked past a window and saw all the... whiteness. Jeez, better turn on the news, I thought.

We could have all stayed in bed.

So he's in his room playing a video game, and I'm starting to check out what promises to be a really cool collection of Jason Falkner bootlegs (are you paying attention, Toland? This is likely to end up being a care package for you at some point. And I'll throw in some socks).

***

So the weekend, the weekend. Some things went well, some didn't. When push comes to shove, I suppose it would have been smarter to stay home. Seriously, though, it was hard to get a forecast that gave the slightest indication what road conditions between Houston and Ft. Worth would be like even 24 hours ahead.

Whit and I ran the half marathon last year, as you know. Since I'm injured I'm out this year, but I still wanted to go down to lend the guy a hand.

It was bitterly cold when I left Saturday morning. I checked the tires on the car, and the brass nozzle on the air compressor stung my hands.

(Never did find my gloves)

***

Whit and I had to head into Houston from Katy that afternoon, as he'd yet to pick up his race packet.

We're so damn alike in some ways.

That is, he got lost in Houston. He swears it's unlike him, but it's the way I roll.

So we got to the convention center. Just had to grab his confirmation letter, run in, and grab the race packet.

Now let's see... where's that confirmation letter again?

***

Yeeeeeah. It was nowhere to be found. There we were, with no time to return to Katy, and the confirmation letter, which was emblazoned with something along the lines of YOU'D BETTER PRESENT THIS OR YOU DON'T GET YOUR PACKET, SUCKA across the top, was missing in action.

Gone, boom.

We started rifling through his car, reaching into the netherworld beneath seats that any God-fearing person typically avoids.

Minutes went by. Steam came out of Whit's ears. I felt reasonably certain that, of 15,000 runners, he wouldn't be the only person to lose this little piece of paper.

I suggested we head inside to see. With some trepidation, we did.

I had to hang back, though, as parking tickets were being handed out the next block up, and in our haste we hadn't exactly paid attention to all of those brightly colored signs.

Whit headed in, and I checked out the signs. Shoot, where we parked was fine, and sure enough the ticket folks drove away even as I stood there.

***

And yes, they were able to print out another letter for Whit inside.

***

So we got back in the car, sat down, and there it was.

Yes, IT. The missing letter.

It was tucked into the visor.

We laughed until our sides hurt.

***

We had a similarly funny episode on the way back to his house. My sister called to tell me they had a new dog.

That is, they'd paid lots of money for an exotic dog with some bowel issues.

"You got a $500 dog that farts?" I asked her, and she and Whit and I just died.

But yes, Slugger drops ass a lot.

***

"When Mrs. Kissel breaks wind we beat the dog."

Anyone? Anyone? Llorca? Amanda?

Bueller?

***

So Whit, again behaving just like me, got all wrapped up in getting the right MP3 player for the race, and stayed up too late after that. In fact, homeboy set his alarm for FOUR in the morning instead of FIVE.

At least he didn't wake ME up any earlier than necessary. It would have been an old school Krav Maga versus Kung Fu showdown. Word.

That is, I'd have beat him with my woobie.

***

The race, the race... well, he didn't win.

***

Okay okay... the weather, which had been a constant threat, was kind. It stayed mid-50s and overcast, but the temp never dropped, and the skies never opened up. Good running weather. I was right at the finish line, in fact, when some guy named Hall came BLAZING by to set the new American record for the half marathon. WOW could that cat fly!

Whit gritted it out, mangling a toe while shaving a minute off of his time from last year. I got okay footage of him just about at the finish line.

***

He had a well-deserved sprawl on the convention center floor afterwards. When we left we were in absolutely no hurry, which was as it should have been, and in fact, was also as fast as we could have gone.

Really.

***

We hit the noodle joint, got massages, and settled in for a big day full of nothing else.

Again, which was as it should have been.

***

Thing is, the spectre of the weather finally raised its ugly head. The front, which I'd beat to Houston, was coming, slowly and steadily. Reports were that the DFW area was getting bad, and not due to improve. As bad as things were, it seemed like leaving immediately was the best option.

***

I stopped in Huntsville to get a sandwich. The guy asked where I was headed, and when I told him he said, "Boy, you crazy."

Thank you, and yes, I'd like tomatoes on that.

***

For much of the drive the precipitation was the real problem. I was blessed with a long dry stretch, but most of the time it came down. And down and down. Ever drive with the wipers on the fastest setting and it's still not quite enough? But I had to plow forward.

I became hyper-alert, hyper-vigilant.

***

After speaking to MOBB I decided to stop in at the inlaws' place in Corsicana. I was awfully worried about what lay ahead.

As I exited, though, MOBB called me back. Seems father-in-law had checked online, and wished to report that all was clear between there and Ft. Worth.

***

Note to self: Father-in law is a funny guy.

***

At that very exit, in fact, is where I first knew something was really, really wrong. That is, I waited for my green light there by the gas station. As it turned green, the guy in the Caddy who was supposed to stop just slid through the intersection, right through the spot where I should have been driving.

Hmmm...

***

After that, it was on, brother.

I was proceeding slowly up 287 to home. For miles and miles I'd be the only car on the road. As I got closer to Ft. Worth the roads became increasingly iced-over. One car proceeding the opposite way was flashing its brights at me as I crossed a bridge. Ice, ice everywhere.

The roads themselves were passable, or so they seemed. I mean, as the only guy on the road most of the time, with no one to watch... do I go 50, 60? Or 30 maybe?

I was running on adrenaline. Whit had just shot footage of me playing a song for his son. My life insurance is paid up, my kids had been sweet on the phone, and I figured that this was the stuff they'd be talking about at my funeral. It's a perfect script to lead up to a fiery crash.

***

Closer to the DFW area I saw more and more police cars. One parked at the near side of a bridge was getting out of his car as three people walked up the embankment towards him. I gather their car was down at the bottom, closer to the river than the road.

***

As I hit I-20, which is about 20 minutes from home, things got nuts. Many bridges were closed with wrecks on the other side, as I crawled forward on my side. I passed wreck after wreck, some empty and cold, and some with people still inside.

And finally it happened: I hit a bad patch of ice and went out of control.

I slid at a 45 degree angle to the right, a 45 degree angle to the left... and straightened up. More adrenaline.

Between I-20 and home I believe I passed 16 wrecked cars.

***

I got home about 11:55pm. I briefed MOBB as to what had happened. By midnight I was asleep in a hard 10.5 hour crash.

Finally, yes, I crashed.

***

I've gone on and on too long.

It's good to be home, good to be alive.