A ride to change your life

I'm writing about this ride weeks after it happened because I was not capable of writing (or even talking, really) about it until a few days after. Then I wanted to wait until I knew the details before I said anything that wasn't true. But now I know the facts (or what facts were reported, at least) and can give you the story.

It's Thursday, Oct. 25, and it finally rained in Virginia. We had been dry since August, so we were all relieved. Unfortunately, it seemed people forgot how to drive in the rain. There were accidents everywhere. Traffic was slow getting to work in the morning and getting home at night. But at least it was rain.

I was heading home. My work-week was just about over and I was looking forward to the weekend. My ride that evening was a red pick-up truck, relatively new. I was in the backseat and another man got in the front.
The driver asked us how we were doing, both our responses were similar: "Love the rain, hate standing in it." He laughed, threw out some joke, we laughed and we drove off.

(It's amazing, I'm hesitating right now because, even after a few weeks have passed, my hands are trembling thinking about this.)

The ride made me a little nervous from the start. I think I caught the driver nodding off in the beginning and I would glance at him from time to time and watch him try to keep himself awake — shifting positions, rubbing his eyes, finishing off his water bottle.
Then there were the close calls.
Once we swerved onto the shoulder of the HOV lane because traffic suddenly stopped and he wanted to avoid running into the back of the Honda Civic in front of us (yes, even weeks later, I remember what we almost hit). And twice we almost got side-swiped by cars trying to move into our lane without seeing us (how one can miss a big red truck in your side mirror, I'll never know). It wasn't anything a good horn-honking couldn't fix.
Usually when we get off the HOV, I feel home-free as it's only about ten more miles until our exit and that goes by quickly when there's no traffic. But, because the HOV merging back onto Interstate 95 can cause major traffic jams on a clear day, it was expected to be bad that day what with all the rain.
We merged onto I-95 just fine and were able to get into the right lane pretty easily, but it was all crawling at a snail's pace after that.
We hadn't been off the HOV for ten minutes, nor had gone a mile, before the driver got a phone call. There was shrieking on the other end, I couldn't make out what was being said. But I remember what happened next.
"WHAT?!" the driver shouted and immediately pulled over to the right shoulder of the highway. No, he wasn't pulling over to stop. He was pulling over so he could floor it and bypass the halted traffic. We were flying down the shoulder at what had to be at least 90 miles per hour with dirt and gravel under the right tires (above which I was sitting) and those weird bump things that tell you you're running off the road under the left tires.
Only a few seconds after we got off the road, I heard a pop and knew a tire was gone. Not until after everything, I saw it was the back right tire.
There were several times where we almost slid off the shoulder and into the ditch or pack of trees that edge the highway. Once he had to stop and switch gears so the other three tires could compensate for the one lost. All the while, he's on the phone trying to call people or trying to call back the original caller. The other passenger and I are clinging to what we can, not knowing what was going on.
After a few minutes, he tells us: "My twins just drowned."
Holy crap.
At this point, I understand why he reacted the way he did. Granted, some people would say he shouldn't put two (possibly three if you count him) lives in danger in the hopes of saving two. But, what parent can say they wouldn't do the same thing?
I just hold on and pray we make it to wherever we're going safely. I know at that point he wouldn't want to go through the steps to drop us off at the commuter lot; he just wants to get home. So my thoughts turn to: What should I do if/when we get off the highway?
I'm still amazed that we made it to the exit. We were going on and off on- and off-ramps, on and off gravel, dirt, grass and whatever else is on that shoulder. No cops followed after us and only one person honked. We lost a tire, we slid several times, but we made it to the exit.
We got off the highway and instead of going in the direction to the commuter lot, the driver went onto the main road (like I expected).
"I can't drop you off, I'm sorry," he said and started driving on the shoulder of the road. What am I supposed to say? I'm sorry, but you have to follow slug etiquette and drop us off where you said you would? Honestly, I didn't want to go to his house because 1) of course, I would have to get home from there and 2) I didn't want to be at his house with something like that going on. I don't know this family and would feel terrified/guilty for being witness to such a personal tragedy.
Luckily, there is a stoplight as soon as you get off the highway and it was red in the direction we were headed with traffic going across the other way, so the driver couldn't keep going unless he wanted his car totaled and us dead, so he started slowing down. The other passenger took this opportunity to say, "Hey, just drop us off here and we can walk the rest of the way." The driver quickly unlocked the doors and we bailed. I almost left my umbrella lying on the floor, but I reached in and grabbed it before the light turned green and he shot off.
We watched as he sped away, leaving behind the shredded remains of his back right tire. All that was left was rim.
The other rider and I stood in the dark and the rain for a few seconds to catch our breath and get a grip on what just happened. I was shaking severely (I do that when I'm anxious or incredibly scared) and the other guy's mouth was gaping.
All that was said was
Him: Were you saying your prayers?
Me: I don't want to say those prayers again for a long while.
We opened our umbrellas and walked across seven lanes of traffic to get to the lot.

A few weeks after and I can tell you there was a bathtub accident and this man's 15-month-old twin boys drowned. I will not speculate as to what happened to lead up to the accident, I'm just gonna stick to the facts. If you want more information, here is the story that ran in the Free Lance Star.

Doing this differently

As the semester has grinded on, my energy has drained. Commuting takes a lot out of you. By the time I'm home, all I want to do is sit in front of the TV and veg. My dad pointed out: "You work from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., but you leave the house at 6:15 a.m. and don't get home until 6:30 p.m. You're technically working 12-hour days."
Because of this, I'm changing the approach to this blog. I can't sit and write about every ride of each day, but I can write about the interesting ones. Hence why I'm writing today ... I had an interesting ride home.

Day ended like it always does. I made it to the Pentagon at about 5:30 p.m. The line wasn't too long, so I got into a car pretty quickly.
As per usual, I got in the car (front seat) and thanked the driver for the ride. Another man got into the seat behind me and we were off.
The driver asked how we were doing and we responded with the obligatory "Fine." And then there was silence.
After about 10 or 15 minutes on the road, the driver pointed out a white SUV driving in the lane to the left of us and said, "Look. One person in that car! I hate when people do that and don't get caught."
Haha, he spoke first! That's the green-light to talk. So I chimed in that it happens all the time.
"Really? I guess I just haven't been doing this long enough," he said.
I asked how long he had been driving slugs and he said only six weeks. The guy in the back and I both chuckled. The driver asked how long we had been slugging and I told him since August, so not much longer than him, which sent the guy in the back into laughter.
"I've been slugging since '89," he said.
This jump-started the conversation about slugging and how it was really just carpooling until the HOV lane was built in the early '90s. The driver was curious and amazed at how the system worked. The man in the back and I both started sharing our slug stories, none of them really exciting, but interesting, nonetheless.
Then we started talking about the area, more specifically where we all lived. The driver had just moved to the area from North Carolina and was still trying to get used to being a "Beltway Bandit." (I'm going to dialogue the rest of this conversation because there's no better way to present it.)

Me: Yeah, my Dad hated it. When he retired, [commuting into D.C.] was the one thing he refused to do.
Driver: Retired? From what?
Me: Oh, the Marines. He was working on Quantico when he retired and now they're sticking around until my baby sister graduates from high school.
Driver: If you don't mind my asking, what did he retire as?
Me: Lieutenant Colonel.
Driver: What's his name? Maybe I know him.
Me: (note: Every time someone has asked me this since I've gotten here hasn't known my father, so I'm not expecting anything. I tell him my dad's name).
Driver: (Repeats my last name for clarification.)
Me: Yes. (I spell it out for him.)
(pause)
Driver: Artillery guy?
Me: (At this point, I know he knows my dad). Yes!
Driver: I know your dad! Oh man, yeah! We were stationed at Camp Pendleton together and then Headquarters here in D.C.!

At this point, I'm excited and freaking out at the same time. It was exciting that this guy knew my dad, pretty amazing, actually. But if he was stationed at Pendleton the same time we were, it meant that he and I had met before ... when I was in kindergarten. Weird thought, huh?
The guy in the back seat is laughing again at how weird of a coincidence this is.
The rest of the ride was the driver and I talking about Pendleton (at least, me talking about what I remember of it) and about the families we knew there, many of which are still close friends with us.
When he dropped us off at the parking lot, he handed me his card to give to my dad. When I got home, I told my dad that I was talking about him with the guy I rode with this evening ...
Me: "... and the guy said you sounded hot. Wanted me to give you his card."
I haded the card to Dad and he couldn't stop laughing.
He couldn't believe it, either.

Day Thirteen

Morning: Short line this morning. I was shoved into the backseat of a silver Toyota sports car (sometimes I hate being short). It was a convertible, but the top was up (thank God). The driver was a very large white man with glasses and short, dark gray hair.
The radio station he was tuned to was highly annoying. I don't even know how to describe what it was. It wasn't country, but it wasn't pop it was some weird mix of the two. I wanted to lose myself in my iPod, but it was dead. I went to sleep instead.
Evening: My ride this evening was a black Hyundai. There were two people in the front already when they drove up and they took two of us (I love it when people who can fit four seat four).
The driver was an older woman, mid- to late-50s and the gentleman in the passenger seat was about the same age, if not older. She wore her hair cropped short. She had on a black shirt and gold-hooped earrings. She would not stop clearing her throat for the entire ride. By the end I wanted to throw my water bottle at her.
The gentleman (her husband?) was in a blue and white striped shirt. He was pudgy around the middle, but he had a kind face and spoke softly. He didn't speak to me or the man who got in with me, only to the woman. The woman did thank us for riding with them, though, as we got in.
There was a handicap tag hanging from their rearview mirror. After watching them both for a bit, I think the passenger is the handicapped one simply because of age ... but it's just a guess.
The man who got in the back seat with me was an Army colonel. I so badly wanted to talk to him because I saw he had a West Point Academy ring on his right hand. I almost wrote "Go Navy, Beat Army" on a piece of paper and passed it to him, but that sounded so juvenile, I talked myself out of it. He fell asleep during the ride which allowed me a closer look at his ring. Could have been awkward if the woman looked in the rearview mirror and saw me up close and personal with this guy's right hand and, for all I know, she could have seen it. But nothing was said.
I almost said something as I got out of the car in the parking lot, but again, I held back. Maybe I'll see him again closer to the big game ...

Day Twelve

Morning: The line was long this morning, but I didn't mind. The weather was nice (always good when the sun isn't up yet) and I kept myself amused with the license plates that came through the lot. There was a man who came through in a silver Saturn Vue. He had a University of Michigan frame around his Virginia license plate and I chuckled when I saw it (as did the man standing next to me). Appalachian State beat Michigan ... I love it.
Another was a Virginia plate as well, but it had a Florida State Seminole theme. It said: "I H8 UF" Oh, college football, how I missed thee.
My ride was a brand new BMW. I didn't catch the model, but it was pretty. It was black with a black interior. I almost spilled my coffee getting in (could have been a nightmare). I usually use a Starbucks mug that's awesomely leak-proof. I'm confident enough to throw it into my bag with my computer. But my mug was dirty and I had to grab another that's not as reliable. Thankfully, I caught myself before it happened and I don't think the driver noticed anything.
We hit traffic as soon as we hit the highway.
The woman driver and the guy who got into the passenger seat knew each other. I don't know if they were neighbors or if I was experiencing the beauty of the slug line. People just get to know each other.
Apparently, the driver (who works in Stafford) was heading up north for an interview for a new job. She never said what it was, so I can't claim I know any special people who are privy to government secrets. The passenger said his wife has a new job but just got offered a position somewhere else with higher pay. She wants to take it, but, as the man pointed out, this is her third job in two years ... that doesn't look good on a resume. I silently agreed. The talk soon turned to resumes which I know enough about so I tuned out for a while.
School has started, so they started talking about their kids. They both have sons who play football, though they never mentioned how old they were so I don't know if its middle or high school football (yes, the middle schools here have football teams). The passenger mentioned how he made brownies for his son's first day of school. I had to hold back a chuckle. I just found the idea of this man — dressed up in his Army uniform — making brownies in the kitchen amusing.
Soon conversation ended and the man in the passenger seat fell asleep. I sipped on my coffee (it was overflowing and I was paranoid from the near-spill accident earlier) and listened to the traffic/news station the woman was tuned to until we got to the Pentagon.
Evening: My ride home was miserable. I was in a tan sedan (didn't catch the make or model) with two men who knew each other and a woman who had been waiting in line with me.
The two men talked the whole ride home. They were talking about working at the Pentagon, their kids, the different schools in the area, commuting and Colorado Springs. The woman in the back next to me broke a slugging rule by talking on her cell phone — the ENTIRE TIME! I couldn't believe it. Apparently (from what I gather from her side of the conversation) she was in D.C. for a court date. Seems she was in a fender bender. She wasn't just talking to one person, though. She would get off the phone with one person then call someone else. I guess it's a good thing the two guys in the front were talking because, otherwise, someone could have gotten yelled at.
I so badly wanted to sleep, but everyone was talking and it was so hot in the car, I just couldn't do it. The AC was on, but I guess the vents weren't really pointed to the back. It was so hot and stuffy and the smell wasn't pleasant either. I couldn't wait to get out of the car. I practically ran out when we got back to the commuter lot.

Day Eleven

Morning: I was in a Toyota Camry this morning — green, pretty new model. It smelled delicious and I couldn't tell if it was the car (there was a generic air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror) or one of the riders was fabulously cologned.
The man in the front seat was listening to his iPod the entire ride. He was in his early to mid-30s, attractive — casually dressed in a red t-shirt, brown shorts with a brown messenger bag (I saw it at the stop). He had short, dark hair and a beard trimmed pretty short.
The driver looked young from the back but, once you saw his face, knew he was at least 45. He was dressed in a blue, yellow and white striped polo shirt with khaki pants. He kept scratching is right cheek (I started counting after around 5, but lost count after 40). He had a pretty big nose, which I only saw in profile when he looked over his shoulder to check his blind spot.
There was a license plate and a Bible in the pocket behind the driver's seat. I don't know what state the plate is because it was facing into the chair. The car was washed, but not very well — once we got sun shined directly on the window, you could see the soap residue. It was in a neat pattern, up and down and around the edge like your typical car washer would do.
The driver couldn't make up his mind as to what station he wanted to listen to. Eventally, he switched to a CD. It was mostly rock ballads. We listened to White Snake, Poison and Cutting Crew, but he skipped over some good ones I wouldn't have minded listening to like Journey (Don't stop, believing!!!) or Bonnie Tyler (TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART!!!)
The ride was silent minus the driver's schizo music choices and the faint noise you could hear from the passenger's earbuds.
Evening: There was no line at the Pentagon this evening. There was a line of cars waiting at my stop for someone to walk up. As I was heading in that direction, I saw a Nissan Altima also going that way with a Naval Academy license plate. I so wanted to hop in his/her car as I knew that would be something we could talk about (Dad is class of '83, go Navy, beat Army!). I got lucky, though, the tan Honda Civic waiting first in line for someone heading to my lot also had Naval Academy tags. I jumped into the passenger seat of the car ready and willing to get into it. We had to wait for a third rider before we left, so I (breaking the rules) started the conversation while we waited.
"Saw you had Naval Academy tags, you or your husband?" I asked ... I already had taken note of her wedding band.
"Both, actually!" she replied and our conversation was underway. We got our third rider and she and I talked the rest of the way.
She graduated from the USNA in 1993, her husband in 1994. They both ended up in the Air Force — he cross-commissioned (which never really looks good on your record) and she went Navy before heading to the Air Force. She told me stories about how her class did the Herndon in 93 minutes (great for the class of '93). For those of you who don't know what she means by "did the Herndon," I'll explain: The Herndon Monument is monument at the Academy that represents the acme of "plebe year" (freshman year). The monument is covered with lard at the end of the year and the plebes must climb it (usually by human pyramid) and replace a "dixie-cup" (plebe headwear) with a cover. This represents the end of their plebe year. If you type "herndon monument" in Google images, you can get an idea of what insanity it can be.
We also talked about Navy games, especially Army/Navy. I told her my father got season tickets to Navy home games and she told me to enjoy every minute of it. And we talked about Cantler's Riverside Inn, the best crab shack anyone will ever know.
I witnessed by first blown tire on the highway during this ride. Don't worry, it wasn't the car I was in. There was a truck about half a mile ahead of us and, since we were going downhill, we could see it pretty easily. A huge cloud of dust suddenly overwhelmed the entire spread of the highway. The driver nonchalantely said, "Ooooh, blown tire" and we watched cars go everywhere. Thankfully, the truck whose tire blew moved over to the shoulder very quick and no one got into accident. Business resumed as usual.

Labor Day

I have no slugging journal for this day. I did have to work but, because it was a federal holiday, there were no slug lines (those Pentagon kids had the day off). So, I instead had to drive 20 minutes up to the Franconia/Springfield Metro stop (the southernmost metro station), parked and took the Metro into downtown.
Normally you have to pay when you park in those garages, but I got to drive right out of it at the end of the day. Maybe they gave those people who had to work today a break. Or the gate guy forgot to put the gate down. Either way, I got the better end of the deal.

Day Nine

I didn't get back until after midnight last night, hence the delay in updating. I only had one ride yesterday because I took the Metro out to Vienna in the evening to meet my father and sisters at Wolf Trap theater to see West Side Story. Dad, of course, drove us home from there where we picked up my car at the commuter lot.

Morning: Rode in another red Prius. How weird is that? But, as usual, I made myself look like an idiot and asked the guy driving if he was the one I rode with the night before. He looked confused and then said, "No, I don't think so." Silence for the rest of the ride ... a little more awkward now because I'm dumb.
The car wasn't very "lived in," though I knew the car was his with his numerous keys on his keychain (not dull like the other rentals/leases I've been in so far). There wasn't anything hanging from the rearview mirror or stuff in the center console. It was just plain ... but it at least smelled new.
The guy was flipping through radio stations the whole ride, like it was cool or something. He stopped a station that had just started playing "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I immediately started to miss my friends back in Missouri. One had this as his ringtone (the one the caller hears instead of the dull ring) and the rest of us just go plain crazy when a Journey song comes on.
Traffic was congested from the get-go. I really do hate the on-ramp where I live. Typically, on-ramps are supposed to be about a mile long giving traffic the opportunity to merge onto the highway but, no ... if you stay on our on-ramp any longer than half of a mile, you're getting back off again. Pain.
My most entertaining moment of the ride? A HUGE Ford truck drove past us -- it was a '90s model, big tires, a good amount of lift, fog lights on top of the truck and your classic "balls" hanging from the back of the hitch. Even better was the license plate: OBSCNE