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I was the world's worst beginning driver, getting in 6 car accidents during just my first year driving at the ripe age of sixteen-and-a-half. I had tried to get my license right after my birthday in January, but when Mom took me down it was snowing pretty hard, and we were there early. The driving test administrator didn't think they would be doing any driving because of the snow, but because we were there and must have looked desperate, he said he would take me out driving.
It was snowing so hard I couldn't see across the mega-medians they have in downtown Salt Lake, so as I slowed to see the lane I was supposed to be turning left into, the light turned red. I wasn't informed until we pulled back up at the department of motor vehicles. "He turned left on a red," the lugubrious tester said. Then he turned to the other staff in the building and said, "We won't be doing any driving today." I decided to wait to get my license until there was absolutely no chance of snow.
I passed the test in July. That was a long six months to wait, but at least I passed without trying to find the left-turn lane in blowing snow. I almost immediately began to have car accidents, all caused by me. I made up for the delay in getting my license by backing up into another car while trying to get out of a parking space. I swear the other car wasn't there when I looked back, but then you never know when someone is going to pull up behind you and park while you pull out. I dented in her passenger side door pretty well, and the insurance rates started to climb.
I don't remember much about the other accidents during the year, until it was almost then end of my junior year. I do remember packing a healthy lunch and actually brown-bagging it for the first time in high school. I was so proud of that lunch and my decision to eat more sensibly. My usual lunch that entire year was a Suzy Q and a Fanta orange. Very healthy.
As I pulled around the corner up on 9th East in Sandy and headed south toward Jordan High School, I turned right and had to accelerate to get in - as usual. The lunch bag fell to the floor. I reached down to rescue the golden cargo, and when I leaned back up, there was a large truck in front of me. The bumper was high enough to smash through my radiator and shove it against my engine. As I hit the truck without even putting on my brakes or being able to swerve, my head smacked against the steering wheel. The boondoggle wrapped around the cover slashed my head.
Mom was at work, so when they asked who should come get me at the hospital, Grandpa Hale showed up just after they sewed 7 stitches in my forehead. It was all surreal. People trying to help me when all I had done was cut my head, a trip in the ambulance; more attention at the hospital. When it was over, I had a new scar and no car.
I decided to go back to eating a little less healthy. I never packed a lunch again.
I had one other miraculous accident I survived somehow. I had a Yamaha 150 motorcycle that didn't run all that well. It would go pretty well for about 10 minutes, but then it would start to sputter and probably only needed a tune-up. But I was a poor college student.
I decided to go for a short drive up Logan Canyon, and as the bike sped up, it seemed to be running pretty well. I gunned the engine as I went down the steep hill and was going way too fast. Centrifugal force took over down at the bottom - where the road turned, but the motorcycle did not. I drifted into the gravel shoulder going at least 25 or 30 miles per hour. The front wheel dug in and went sideways. The back wheel kept going forward and threw me over the handlebars.
I did a complete somersault in the air and landed on my back, which is better than landing on your head. When I hear the adjective "whumph" it makes me think of the landing on some more loose gravel. I sat for a moment and soaked in the pain, but didn't recognize any broken bone pain. I picked up the motorcycle, drove it back to campus and sold it for $100 about a week later.
At least no more bees would be smacking me in the face while going fifty miles per hour.
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