
Sunday afternoon. Driving down Route 10 West. A car driving east up that very road nearly slams me. Head on. He was fleeing the police, who followed a not-very-safe distance behind.
I didn't know what almost hit me. But in the seconds after the near miss, I realized how lucky I was.
Calling this a near-death experience would be overdramatic. An exaggeration. A desperate grab for sympathy. OK, a flat out lie. The Camry's safety record is widely documented. And the fugitive wasn't driving with reckless abandon. More like scared shitless abandon, which equates to approximately a 20mph difference. In that difference, even a subpar hand-eye coordinator like myself could swerve into the shoulder and live to tell about it.
So, more accurately, it was a near-airbag deployment. What I avoided was a big pain-in-the-ass.
Regardless of how close to death I really wandered, it was one of those live-life-to-the-fullest moments. Things were going to be different.





