I am not the only person who will remember Saturday, October 29, 2011, forever. My wife, Margie, our friends Janice and Dennis Kinard, and one special officer of the North Carolina Highway Patrol are the ones that come immediately to mind.
That day started out quite harmlessly. I rolled out of bed at 7:00, which is unusually early for a Saturday. I got our slow cooker out and loaded it with two pounds of red beef stew meat plus carrots, parsnips, onions, potatoes, broth, and spices. These would cook on low all day so that when four hungry travelers returned about 5:00 P.M. they could sit down immediately to a delicious, hearty plate of beef stew. What did Robert Burns say about the plans of mice and men?
Janice, Dennis, Margie, and I had all read Dr. Walt Larimore’s trilogy about his medical practice in Bryson City, North Carolina, and we all developed a hunger to go to Bryson City and see the many places that were so important and intriguing in Dr. Larimore’s tales. We postponed this trip once so we could go in October when fall colors would be so spectacular on that segment of our trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We postponed our journey two more times when it turned out that I had to work on the 15th and on the 22nd. As I was scrubbing the carrots we got our first bad news of the day: Dennis’s boss decided that Dennis could not have the day off and would have to work until 8:00 P.M. We held a hasty pow-wow and voted unanimously that Janice, Margie, and I would go without Dennis and take many pictures for him to see. If we postponed one more time all the pretty leaves might be gone.
My blue Subaru Outback is great for trips like this. It is so quiet we could have delightful conversation when there was nothing important on the radio. It zipped us up the mountains so quickly we were in Bryson City in only two hours. We checked out the Hemlock Inn, the hospital, Bennett’s Drugs, the Presbyterian Church, Swain Co. High School, etc., and took many pictures. We were a little disappointed in that the house the Larimores had lived in had been replaced by a large pharmacy, but we need to expect things like that after 25 or 30 years have elapsed. Right?
We had a delicious lunch at the Iron Skillet, then drove over to Cherokee where Margie found some turquoise earrings to match the necklace she was wearing. She also found a nice tooled leather belt for me. Janice found some moccasins she loved, and a fancy leather billfold for Dennis. When the ladies had fulfilled their need to go shopping we headed for home. So far it was an A++ outing for all.
Going through Rosman I added six gallons of gas to make certain we didn’t run out on the way home. A short distance from Rosman on highway 178 is a little town which I think is called Twin Forks. A late model white sedan, I think it might have been a Toyota Camry, pulled out in front of me. I considered accelerating above the speed limit to pass him, but I noticed that the driver was a very good driver, so I decided to just follow him three or four car lengths back.
I don’t know how much experience you have had driving on serpentine mountain roads, but I have had a lot of experience. I always evaluate a curve as I approach it, and adjust my speed accordingly. Until that day I had never had an accident that was my fault. I did not intentionally decide to do it differently that day. Looking back, I realize that after I began following “Whitey” I just sort of relaxed and assumed that Whitey was evaluating each curve, and all I had to do was follow his lead. When he slowed down I slowed down. When he speeded up I speeded up. This worked very well for about four miles. I was going counterclockwise around a fairly sharp curve at about 25 MPH when I suddenly realized I was skidding sideways. I whipped the steering wheel clockwise all the way. I am not sure, but I think I got out of the skid, but it was too late. I had already run out of road. Off we went from the right side of the road, rolling down a steep embankment.
All three of us were firmly secured by seat belt and shoulder harness. On the first roll my head hit the ceiling. I put my left hand on the ceiling and pushed myself back down into my seat. On the second roll my head did not hit the ceiling, but I became disoriented. I could not tell whether I was upside down, right side up, or somewhere in between. Was I afraid? Yes, but not nearly as much as I should have been. I was heart sick. I knew this was the end of my beloved Subaru Outback. Janice did not become disoriented. She told me later that we rolled four times.
We came to an abrupt stop against a tree about 100 feet below the highway. The windshield was demolished, but, except for a crack about six inches wide, it was still secured to its frame. The right front window was nearly all gone and the left front window was totally gone. The front end of the Outback was about four feet higher than the rear end, and the right side was one or two feet higher than the left side. The left side was smacked up against the hillside. The top was caved in several places. “Are you okay?” I asked Margie.
She hesitated a moment before answering me. “Yes,” she said, but she didn’t seem very sure of that.
“Are you okay?” I asked Janice.
“Yes,” she replied, but sounded even less certain of it than Margie did.
“Are you sure you are okay?”
“Yes,” she answered, weakly.
“Somebody needs to go up on the highway and flag somebody down who will get us some help,” I said, as if they didn’t already know that. “Can either of you get your door open?” They tried, but quickly sent me a negative answer, so I looked around to see what I could do. After all, I got them into this jam, so it was up to me to get them out of it. Then I noticed a small pocket in the hillside opposite the top of my window opening. It created a gap about 16 to 20 inches wide. Maybe, just maybe I could squeeze through that gap and go for help.
It was painful. Very painful. It was like pushing yourself through a clothes wringer. My first attempt resulted in my deciding it was impossible. I had to find another way out. I tried a few other ideas, none of which were any good. Clearly this was the only way out, so I bit the bullet and pushed myself through the gap. Three days later I am still a little bit sore from it, but that’s the way it had to be.
To start, I went around to the other side to see if I could open the doors for the ladies. No way! First, the doors were eight feet above the ground level. Second, they were smashed and jammed. Superman couldn’t open those doors. I looked at my watch: 5:15 P.M. Good. Maybe I can get to the top and get some help and be out of here before dark?
My first efforts to climb the hill were pathetic. Looking up at it, the slope of the hill appeared to vary between 60 and 80 degrees. (Later, looking down at it, it seemed to be only 45 to 70 degrees, but that is still very steep.) I would find a few tufts of grass or weeds that would afford a little traction for my feet, and I would climb up three or four feet. Then the object I depended upon would break loose and I would slide all the way back down to the level where I started. I must have tried and failed a dozen times before I was finally willing to admit this was impossible. I don’t recall whether I just thought it, or whether I actually said out loud, “Lord, what am I going to do? I HAVE to get OUT OF HERE! Two ladies whom I love dearly are trapped inside that mess of a car, and I have to get some help to get them out!” Never before in my life was I so tempted to just give up. Just wait. Somebody will come looking for us and find us and help us out.
I am not certain that my plea qualified as a prayer, but God, in His infinite grace and mercy must have counted it as such. Maybe it is what the Apostle Paul meant when he told the Thessalonians to pray without ceasing. I noticed a small sapling, about one-inch in diameter a few feet to my right. It looked half dead. I thought That looks dead enough to be brittle enough that I can break it off and make myself a walking stick. It was brittle enough, and I made myself a three-foot walking stick. Now I was able, using the walking stick for a little added support, to climb eight or ten feet up the hillside before losing my traction and sliding back to my starting level. Obviously this was not yet a solution to my problem. What if I got 40 or 50 feet up and my support gave away and I slid back down. I could gain enough momentum to have a fatal crash against a rock or a tree. Then what would my ladies do? Again I felt like quitting. It was impossible. I might as well give up and sit and wait for the rescue party. A little voice inside of me said, “NO! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO GIVE UP! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THOSE TWO PRECIOUS LADIES. I gave you a walking stick. Now get busy and figure out how I intended for you to use it.”
About that time a thought crossed my mind: I wonder why some weeds and grass support my climbing, but some let me fall? I did a little checking and found that the dependable ones had deeper roots. Okay, that seems logical. I took a closer look at my walking stick. Maybe I can sharpen one end so I can push it into the ground, and maybe it will work as well as a weed with long roots. I was surprised to discover that both ends of my stick were somewhat sharp already. In all of my 85 years I had never seen a limb or stick break like that. I cannot explain how that happened. It looks to me like some invisible hands were looking out for us. I must admit that at that point I fell in love with that stick. I already deeply loved the One who gave it to me.
I made it to the top at 6:20 P.M. I was pooped, and I was trembling like an aspen leaf in a breeze. My legs were like rubber. I had to lean on my walking stick to stand. I tried to flag down a passing car or truck and ask them to call 911 for us. There was still quite a bit of daylight left when I began flagging, but it was dark before any stopped. At least ten drove by without stopping.
As daylight faded I noticed a light somewhere off to my left which suggested that there might be a house there. I was so tired and shaking I could barely walk, but I went toward the light. It was a small house, with one light left on inside. I knocked on the door but no one answered. There was room for five or six cars in the parking area in front of the house, but it was empty. I had walked that 200 feet or so for nothing. Lord, what am I going to do? Nobody is stopping! The very next car that came up the road was a sports car with a Georgia license plate, and it stopped. A middle-aged couple on vacation used their cell phone to call 911, and also to leave a message on Dennis Kinard’s answering machine.
Help began arriving about 7:30. First to arrive were two fire trucks, an EMT truck, an equipment truck, and one truck which I never did figure out what it was for. After them came two ambulances, a tow truck, and about 10 or 12 other miscellaneous vehicles. The firemen noticed how badly I was trembling and decided I was cold, so they wrapped me in a blanket. When that didn’t stop my trembling they made me sit inside a fire truck where it was warm. Presently a Highway Patrol Officer approached the truck, so I rolled down the window. He was writing up the accident report and wanted to interview me. He asked, “Did you actually see the vehicle go over the edge?” I assured him that I did. He said, “Where were you standing when the vehicle went over the edge?”
I replied, “Sir, I was inside the vehicle. I am the driver.”
He looked at me like he had caught me in one massive lie. “That’s impossible!” he blurted. “If you were inside that vehicle you would be dead!” He proceeded to tell me about other cars that had gone off the road at that same spot. There were no survivors. If the crash didn’t kill them they would try to climb the hill and couldn’t. They would give up and sit and wait for someone to find and rescue them. That would take several days. By that time they would all be dead. I shuddered. That story could have included us, too, if Someone had not kept supplying my needs, whether it was goading, encouraging, or a walking stick.
Next the officer asked a series of questions that seemed to me to be test questions, to see if it could be possible that I was actually telling him the truth. “How did you get up here? Who helped you?” I wanted to tell him God did, but he didn’t stop for an answer. He continued, “Look, I know I am younger than you are, and I know I am in better shape than you are, and I know I could not climb that hill without help. So, who helped you? How did you get up?”
I told him, “Look, there are two ladies trapped inside that car. They can’t get out. I am the only one who could go for help. I love those ladies dearly. I had to get help for them. Giving up was not an option. It took me over an hour to climb that hill, but I had no other choice.”
At that point he finally believed me. “You are a hero,” he said. “You did the impossible. You saved those ladies’ lives.” He asked a zillion more questions about how old the ladies were, their home addresses, health problems, etc.
It was after 10:00 when I was informed that they had Janice and Margie out of the Subaru. They had to cut the top off the Subaru in order to get them out. Then they strapped them in baskets, and ten men pulled on a long rope to bring them up to the ambulances. Janice had massive bruises on her abdomen. She was air lifted down to Greenville Memorial Hospital where extensive surgical equipment and skills were available if needed. Fortunately, after extensive testing, it was decided that she had sustained no permanent injuries, and she was allowed to go home after supper on Oct. 31st.
The owners of the property came to talk with me. “Will you make a phone call for us?” they asked. I assured them I would be glad to. What about? Who? What number? Can it wait until I get home? I don’t have a phone here. They said they would get back to me with the information. I was to ask someone to get a guard rail installed on that curve so cars would not keep going off there. Unfortunately I was whisked off to the hospital before they were able to get back to me.
Margie and I were taken by ambulance to the hospital in Brevard, NC. They ran many tests on Margie and determined that she had no permanent injuries, either. They wanted to check me out, but I insisted that I was okay. They wanted to keep both of us overnight, but I told them I had to get home. I had a pot of beef stew cooking, and I had to get home and turn off the electricity before it turned to carbon, caught fire, and burned the house down. Also, I had a sheltie dog that had to be fed and given a potty break.
They helped me send word to the Greenville County Sheriff, who would send one of his deputies or a fireman to our house to unplug our roaster. They also helped me make contact with a wonderful friend, John Matthews, who graciously drove to Brevard and brought us home to Greenville at 2:20 Sunday morning.
After four hours of sleep Margie and I got up and went to church and Sunday school. We had a lot of thanking to do. Also, we were scheduled to take missionaries Paul and Sherry Zimmer and their family to lunch. We wouldn’t miss that opportunity for anything!
After all of this we made a list of 31 items that were left in our car. On Monday we drove up to Brevard to the Queen’s Towing Service to get as many of those items as had survived the rollovers, being towed topless up the hill, and transported to the impound lot. We were able to recover eight of those things. Who knows where the other 23 went?
With four days to meditate and analyze this event I am convinced that I have figured out what caused it: I had neglected tire rotation. I did not understand that it is important to keep balanced traction with your four wheels. I had two new tires on my front wheels and two tires, still legal, but almost ready for replacement on the rear. Going around the curve my rear tires lost traction and I continued on a tangent, not a curve. We think it is quite a testimony for Subaru cars that any of us survived, and that any of our belongings were still there when we went back for them. I want to be clear: this accident is not a negative reflection on the safety of Subaru cars. Quite the contrary! But I am convinced that not even the great safety features of Subaru cars could have spared us if those invisible hands of protection had been unfaithful. How blessed it is to be a child of God who is infinitely faithful!
By the way, I still have that walking stick if you want to see it. And, yes, our next car will be a Subaru.
