Now that the saga is long over, I feel that I can share the story of my first car accident. It happened suddenly, as car accidents do, mere hours after leaving a job in Junction, Texas. I’m fine, thankfully, but my poor car took the brunt of the collision. Typically, or so I’ve heard, the other driver stays around to exchange information, take pictures, and describe the incident with law enforcement. Insurance agents then assess the damages swiftly, with all parties in communication until the claim is resolved. This story does not go like that.
It was July 9th, 2020, around 5pm, a blistering 108 degrees in the desert. As my first real day off in what felt like ages, I visited the scintillating Caverns of Sonora then angled south toward the Mexican border, driving leisurely with no place to be. On a whim, perhaps persuaded by the hot sun beaming through my moonroof, I turned off the highway into Amistad National Recreation Area in search of a place to swim. I could see the lake at the bottom of the hill, a steamy mirage in the rocky desert, when the gold pickup entered my view. I had a split second to slam on the brakes and stare into the windshield of the oncoming truck, before the loud crunch.
Whiplash, then pure powerlessness. My car was slammed backward by the larger vehicle, the hood folded inward to obscure my forward view. The brakes wailed as the pressure of my hardest stomp leaked out from the destroyed fluid lines. A column of steam enveloped my car as I sat, stunned, the sinking feeling of total loss setting in. I managed to pull myself together enough to step out of the car, in shock, my neck throbbing and balance off-kilter. The old man who hit me had already backed his 70s-style F250 pickup away from the point of impact and was now hobbling toward me, tiptoeing irritably around the fluids and debris. Without a word of apology, he told me that he was late for an important engagement, let me take quick pictures of his documents, and just hopped back into his truck and drove away.
Alone in the blazing sun, my head and neck throbbing, I fought back my tears and tried to call ‘911’ for help. No service. The tears came streaming as I urged myself up the hill, trudging in the loose gravel because my soft rubber soles were sticking to the scalding asphalt. After the longest quarter of a mile, I reached a small convenience store/café where I was able to patch through calls to the police and to my insurer. To add insult to injury, the cashier gruffly confronted me as I waited in the air-conditioned seating area and proceeded to charge me a dollar-fifty for taking a cup of ice water from the soda fountain.
After another hour, I schlepped back down the hill when the police arrived. The two young officers surveyed the damage and took notes as I described the crash, incredulous that the other guy left the scene – not only did he not have the opportunity to defend his honor, but he would be pursued for a hit-and-run. It would turn out that the perpetrator had borrowed that gold truck and had a DWI on his record, but fortunately for me, the truck had liability insurance. The officers also summoned a tow truck, instructing me to take all I could carry out of my car because they didn’t know where it would be taken. The tow truck driver, a tall vaquero with timeless wrinkles stretching across his stern profile, wordlessly gave me and my beloved hunk of twisted yellow metal a ride to town as the sun set over the treacherous desert.
I checked into a motel in Del Rio, and the next few days went by in a blur. I had call after call with insurance companies, wherein I gave my testimony to adjusters who were also incredulous that the perpetrator (whose name I still didn’t know) hit me head-on and left the scene. My insurer provided me with a rental allowance of $500, which got me about a week of a clunky Dodge SUV from the lone rental car agency in town. One last visit to my car in the wrecker’s garage, a chance to swipe any last belongings/loose change, and that was it. No further information from law enforcement about what happened with the other guy, no further updates from the insurance companies as they sent their people to assess the wrecked car and reconfirm the details of my case. Several weeks later, I was given a direct deposit of $5200 for my “total loss”, which I accepted knowing that a civil dispute would likely only diminish the payout.
Eventually, life had to move on. After two months of uninspired weekend car shopping, I finally settled on a new Subaru Crosstrek Sport as my replacement. I love the car, but it cost me an additional ~$20,000 for about the same level of driver satisfaction. It still hurts to imagine that if my old yellow Baja had lasted me a few more years, I’d have a much better selection of new 2022 or 2023 models – I’d possibly even buy electric! But it turns out that I needed some of the new car’s features to safely navigate the Texas highways, especially once my right leg was afflicted by sciatica. I learned the hard way that life can present unexpected setbacks and expenses that any amount of insurance or outside support can’t fully resolve.
Over a year later, I still miss my old car from time to time. Everyone’s first car is sentimental, but mine was particularly colorful and unique! It was a frequent conversation starter at gas stations, the subject of adulation from strangers and friends, even garnering a couple of notes on the windshield offering to buy it outright. Every time anyone in my inner circle sees a Subaru Baja out in the wild, they still send me pictures and messages. I like to think that my baby is still driving somewhere, that it was taken across the border and refurbished, possibly given a new life as a lowrider truck attracting eyes at car shows across Mexico, that maybe it was fulfilling its destiny as a “Baja” by escaping as soon as it was driven close to the Mexican border… farfetched, sure, but I did feel some magic about that car. I had named her Joy – for the joy of joyriding on country roads in Missouri and Tennessee – and it’s undeniable that some joy was taken away from me on that fateful summer day.
Worldly Observations 