Cruising down the road at a cool sixty miles an hour in a posted forty-five, it was raining. It was raining hard. So hard in fact we thought about breaking out the paddles and pushing the boat button hidden under the steering wheel. But that would require work and magic, so we continued driving. James had been the first to get his drivers license and a car, or truck in his case. A bright red stick shift Chevy S-10, complete with a black plastic bed liner and silver metal craftsman tool chest just behind the rear window. My knees in the dashboard and him sitting comfortably we talked about who knows what. Coming up on the turn and realizing that he didn’t know to turn there, I mentioned that we needed to turn there, thinking James would blaze on by and we would stop and turn around. All of the sudden everything is happening very fast but at the same time in my mind in slow motion. James downshifts into third, taps the breaks and wails on the steering wheel turning left. I grab the passenger handle above his door and look straight ahead. Water shedding off the window in great arcs, tires squealing and sliding on the water-wrecked road, utter silence in the vehicle. Bouncing up and down like bull riders we left the road and headed for desert country. Sliding between an electric box the size of small car and a telephone pole taller and stouter than any oak with not but inches to spare we came to a halt. Silence.
Silence.“Man…we just had a blues brothers moment.”
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