Rain. Hydroplane. Slide.
In the seconds between leaving the road and coming to rest in the trees, there were three clear thoughts running through my head: “I hope we don’t roll.” “Get as deep into the seat as you can without bracing.” and “My husband’s side is going to hit the trees and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He told me later he was thinking, “I’m glad it’s going to hit me and not her.”
The roadster’s front end hit a tree and the force spun the car. Then everything stopped. The only sound, the staccato drumming of the rain on the hard top, was broken by the questions: “You OK? I’m OK.” “Are you OK? I’m OK.” And then we opened the doors and stepped out into the rain, giddy that we could.
We are grateful to the engineers who could design a car to take such a blow and allow us to walk away — even after 91,000 miles with adventures in 15 states. The front end absorbed so much energy the airbags didn’t deploy. Inside, the cabin was pristine, one couldn’t tell that anything was wrong.
We can’t help but think that beyond the engineering, the grace of God played the biggest part in our survival.
Sadly, the much-loved car is no more, totaled by the insurance company.