Shortly after Halloween, we took a little hiatus from our trip, setting up shop for a week or so at my in-laws' place in Boise. After a month on the road, it was nice to be in one place for longer than two or three days and to eat home-cooked meals again. We had a great time visiting, cooking, and watching the minor-league hockey team the Idaho Steelheads, although we also suffered through Notre Dame's loss to Navy while we were there and sat on the edge of our seats as Boise State barely defeated Louisiana Tech.
Fast-forward a few days, and off we go on the next leg of our trip: up to Canada to visit the extended family. We set off in my in-laws' mini-van, packed to the gills with clothes, camping gear, and stuff we were bringing up to the family at my mother-in-law's behest. Three of us packed into the car along with the gear -- me, J-P, and MIL Sandra -- and we steeled ourselves for two eight-hour-plus days of driving.
Now, when J-P and I embarked on this roadtrip, we hardly expected the trip to be uneventful. We were prepared for the odd flat tire, had jumper cables at the ready, had a AAA membership on hand, and had already had one very brief (but very expensive) trip to the mechanic under our belt.
But nothing could have prepared us for Helena.
Helena was our half-way stopping point. It was a little before 6pm, and we were barely five miles (five miles!) outside of Helena. It had just gotten dark, but there was still the faintest glow of sunlight over the mountains to the west. We were on the interstate (I was driving), winding our way up and down the hills just south of Helena. We were talking about Dolly Parton, and J-P had just cued Islands in the Stream up on the iPod.
And then, in an instant, a deer appeared before us like an apparition.
I swerved.
As it turns out, swerving at 75 miles per hour is a really bad idea.
The swerve sent us into a spin and, when we hit the soft shoulder, the car rolled, coming to a rest against the hill on the side of the road, facing the wrong direction but (thankfully) right-side-up.
And we hit the deer anyway.
I don't know that I will ever forget the moment we came to a stop. J-P and I looked at each other, terrified, and desperate to determine that the other was okay. We were -- no obvious injuries, no blood, both conscious and alert. We turned to Sandra in the back seat. She was dazed and had some minor cuts on her hand, but she was also otherwise okay.
The doors wouldn't open, so J-P and I clambered out of the car through the shattered passenger window. Strewn about was evidence of the speed at which we had tumbled -- a computer landed up the hill several yards away from the car, jars of peanut butter and jelly were in the ditch below the car, and we found a pair of glasses somewhere out in front of the car on the shoulder.
Before we knew it, help was there. Truckers called 911, a kind soul named George helped us collect our scattered belongings and offered to drive J-P into town, a state trooper asked what had happened, paramedics stood with backboards at the ready, and firefighters came prepared to cut the doors off to get Sandra out of the backseat.
Sandra and I went in the ambulance, strapped to backboards after complaining of neck and back pain, and J-P went with George. After the requisite x-rays and CAT scans, we were sent off with painkillers, icepacks, and exhortations to take it easy. We spent the night very sore, and still very scared, in a nearby hotel.
That was four days ago. We are still sore. A little less scared. And feeling very, very lucky. It's hard not picture the hundred of ways that this could have been much, much worse, but we're trying not to.
We couldn't help but revisit the scene the next day and try to piece together exactly what happened. Where we swerved:
And where we landed:
So, friends, we have a few takeaways from this whole mess.
First, seatbelts. Everytime, everywhere, without exception.
And, second, don't swerve. Just hit the damn deer.
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