By now, most everyone having a driver’s license, has encountered someone texting or playing with their electronic smartphone or iPod while behind the wheel. My top three encounters with inattentive drivers on electronic devices, all happened while I was driving a certain Chevrolet pickup truck, them taking place in the 1990s, with cell phones still only cellphones, and not mini computers like they are today.
The first time, I was sitting at a redlight close to my home during winter. Looking in my rearview mirror, I noticed a small car slowly sliding towards me, and could also see the driver with a hand to his ear. My truck, like most of those here in Lake Havasu City, had a receiver and trailer ball under the rear bumper. This guy hit just hard enough for his bumper to go over that ball. Spinning both front tires on a slick road while trying to get loose, he couldn’t. It took three of us, lifting as he backed up, to free the car. This fellow, a businessman from Korea, acknowledged that he was distracted by his phone. No harm was done to either of us, so we shook hands and that was the end of things.
The second time was near identical to the first. A couple of gals, the driver on a cellphone, slammed into that same hitch with her Saturn. No damage was done to my truck, yet the ball and receiver punched a nice size round hole through the frozen plastic facia or bumper of that car. Once again it was winter. The teenager driver pleaded with me to not call the police, saying it was her dad’s car and she was going to be in trouble anyway. My wife sided with the distraught girl, talking me out of it as well. I wondered later on, somewhere down the road, if I’d be the one in trouble. That’s generally how things go for me in decisions like that.
My third incident involving a distracted driver was a bit more serious and involved either drugs or alcohol. I was sitting at the redlight at Lake Otis Parkway and Tudor Road. This is the same intersection where that Toyota pickup struck me on a bicycle a couple of years later.
Holding a soda in one hand, watching straight ahead and not my rearview mirror this time, an older Chevy pickup hit me from behind hard enough to send the cup flying—Pepsi splashing everywhere. Jumping out of my truck, I hustled to the rear asking if this driver was okay. He said that he was good to go, and was sorry, as he’d been talking to his wife. Where stereotyping is concerned—based on looks alone—I immediately pegged him as trouble and was correct in my analysis.
Rather than get out to see if there was any damage, he quickly threw it into reverse and took off. I did the same, and a slow motion chase took place, with heavy traffic both directions making him unable to get out of my sight. I followed the fellow down Lake Otis Parkway, through several subdivisions, and then onto Bragaw Street. He made a serious error and turned onto a neighborhood street that was blocked with concrete bollards. This dead end was directly near a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant.
Bailing from his vehicle, I did the same from mine, chasing the guy on foot through this KFC lobby full of diners, and out the back door. Immediately outside this kitchen exit was a patch of frozen water on asphalt with a slight amount of snow on top. When his feet hit that ice he did a near flip in the air, landing hard, with his head and backside coming down on hard ground. It temporarily dazed and knocked the wind out of him. As if that wasn’t enough, I jumped on top, holding him until a big and strong Army soldier took over for me. It turned out this Military Policeman from Fort Richardson was following both of us, because the distracted driver had sideswiped his Bronco right before he hit me. Before the Anchorage police got there, the either high or inebriated driver glared at me, then said in a loud enough voice for all to hear, “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance!” At that time I laughed it off.
Minutes later, cops came from all directions and arrested the man. He was a wanted felon with a mile long list of convictions. When I mentioned to one of the officers about the guy saying he’d kill me, this policeman told me I was lucky, because there was a loaded revolver in his truck. The officer went on to warn me that it wasn’t smart on what I’d done. It’s taken close to thirty years for me to realize such, but I’ll now finally admit the policeman was right.
I’ve come across several folks here in town driving erratically, and generally, if I’m able to pull up next to them, an electronic device is visible in one of their hands. A pen and notebook is always within my reach, with a small dash cam recording things front and rear as I drive.
Should someone run into me, there’d be no need for a chase, because it’s all there on a small digital SD card for police and attorneys to see. These same cameras are available for bikers to wear, and if I was still riding, I’d have one for sure. The data recorded on them is admissible in a court of law. It’s too bad they didn’t have these handy devices back in 1990, because it would’ve kept me from having to take the law into my own hands, although I must say, it was quite the adrenaline rush.
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