The Beachline Expressway carries residents from Rockledge, Cocoa and Merritt Island to Cape Canaveral and the beaches along A1A. In January a fuel tanker and a pickup collided on the Beachline. A ball o’ fire rose to 150 feet; both drivers died in the flames.
The accident shut down the Beachline until a new eastbound section could be built. It reopened one month later. www.cfnews13.com/article/…/Tanker-explosion-on-Beachline-kills-2-
Headed westbound on the Beachline a few months later…
I had a strange feeling across from the new section, something didn’t seem right. I bought this car new and know it well. Near the top of the bridge I cry out loud, “Did you quit on me?”
Terror fills my throat as I reach for the key; it’s impossible to hear with the roar of the traffic. If it doesn’t turn over I will roll backward into the traffic behind. Luckily, a turn of the ignition is just enough to boost the engine of my ’91 Olds Cutlass Supreme. I make it over the top. Still…
It isn’t enough to keep it on the road. Just that quick it stalled again. And there I am flying downhill with… No power. No steering. No brakes. Nothing. Only fear.
That is when I begin my dance with death. I start this monstrous struggle to force the car onto the side of the road. My thought is to steer the car sideways a little so it will slow down and I can bring it to a stop.
Both hands have a knuckle-white grip of the wheel with my entire body leaned against it to force a turn. Both feet are planted on the brakes so hard that my head nearly touched the roof. I’m 5’ 1.”
On my right is a wide section of grass and beyond it twelve to fifteen feet of shrub, small trees and water. Ahead is a wide grassy path that leads straight into the river. This machine weighs thousands, I weigh 106 pounds.
Can I stop in time?
I will always believe the hand of the Almighty reached down and jerked that machine up short.
Seven minutes. That’s how long it is before the pounding in my heart and shaking of my hands slow enough before I can reach for the cell to call my husband.
My car? It was the fuel pump, which can go without warning I’m told.
How ‘bout you? Do you have a “hair-raising” story?
May Your Glass Always Be Half Full