In where I almost die, but then not so much.
I write restaurant reviews mostly so that I can read what I thought about a place in a year or two and decide if I want to go back. You know, the imperfection of memory and all that. I was going through my stats yesterday and I found that I am getting hits from “Portland Food Map”. I checked it out, and it’s a really informative and very neatly set up site that lists most if not all of the restaurants in the Portland area (which is needed, as we do have tons of them), and has brief reviews of most (Chris2fer is listed!). Plus, it breaks the restaurants out in a pretty ingenious way. You should go check it out.
This morning I was tooling along in my car, and I remember noticing that it was about 39 degrees out at 6am this morning. My car tells me these things in order to help me make driving decisions. Should I go above 30 mph, I say to my car? The car says that it is “icy”, so probably not. Seriously – I worry enough without my car telling me that it is icy and unless I take care I will end up dead in a ditch. Well, the “icy” warning was not on this morning. And it should have been.
I pulled up to the intersection of Stevens Ave and Frost St (Capisic), and hit the brakes to stop for the light, about 100 feet before the intersection. Except for some reason in the 50 plus degrees days of weather that we have had, the intersection was a sheet of black ice, and my car did not stop at all. I applied “gentle” pressure to the brakes, almost putting my foot through the floorboards. I stayed calm, only gritting my teeth enough to practically crack a molar. I turned into the skid, as I was taught by Mr. Something or Other in Drivers Ed 17 years ago. I could feel the anti-lock brakes pumping away under my foot. In slow motion, I slid through the light and into the middle of the intersection. I saw a mini van accelerate out of where they were stopped across from me, and pull towards my car. I saw them swerve around me and glare at me through my terror, because they assumed that I had run the light and that I was trying to make the turn before them, like this was some stupid race at 6 in the morning on a nearly deserted Maine road, or the end of Grease or something. Whatever, minivan lady. You suck. Eventually, my car slid to a stop in the other lane. Phew.
I slowly realized that I was not going to require a visit to the hospital or possibly the morgue. My car did not end up in a ton of twisted metal and burning flesh, as I was envisioning it would as I slid. Hubby is not a widow. Grady is not the son of a single parent. Sandi Patty was not contacted to sing at my enormous funeral. A national day of mourning was not declared. But I can tell you that in the future I will be driving even more like a Grandma than I already do.
PS – Shuddup, stupid minivan lady.