In the moment before impact, D.K. Mullarky looked out the driver's side window of his tiny sports car and saw the right front headlight of an out of control SUV, mere inches away. The initial impact drove Mullarky's car down an embankment, where it slammed into a stand of trees. The collision's aftermath left Mullarky with a totaled vehicle and a broken body. Happy to be a survivor, Mullarky relies on his experience behind the wheel as a driver-and a victim-as he shares his humorous and informative guide on how to prevent idiots on the road from making other drivers a statistic. With thousands of Americans losing their lives in preventable, non-alcohol related collisions and crashes every year, one cannot help wonder why drivers are still operating their vehicles while being distracted by drinks, food, conversations, and, worse yet, cell phones. With a wry sense of humor, Mullarky wonders why drivers act like their signals are made of acid, ready to melt their fingers if they use them; tempt fate and speed on the road; drift into other lanes; ogle crashes and traffic collisions; and refuse to yield the right-of-way to emergency vehicles. Get on the Bus shares practical advice that can encourage anyone to revisit their own driving habits while it reminds that being self-focused on the road is a disaster just waiting to happen.

Get on the Bus!

Because You Can't DriveBy D. K. Mullarky

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011-2012 D.K. Mullarky
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4103-6

Contents

1 Start Your Engines!.......................................12 One Good Turn (Deserves a Signal)!........................113 To Speed or Not to Speed..................................154 What Else Can I Do Now?...................................195 What Does This Butt on Do?................................236 Your Lane or Mine?........................................257 Lane of Confusion.........................................298 Are You Making a Pass at Me?..............................319 Distance Yourself!........................................3310 Baby on Board, Butt head at Wheel!.......................3511 Got a License but No Clue!...............................3712 Eat and Run?.............................................4113 Restrain Yourself!.......................................4314 Don't Belt Me In!........................................4715 False Sense of Security..................................4916 Pedaling Danger..........................................5117 None Too Bright!.........................................5518 What's Your Sign?........................................5719 This Is M y Exit!........................................6120 Whoa! Back Up!...........................................6321 Hey! Look at That!.......................................6522 A Shoulder to Drive On?..................................6723 Loaded for Danger!.......................................6924 Lead, Follow, or Get Out of the Way!.....................7325 We Don't Heed No Stinkin' Limits!........................7726 Meet Me Halfway..........................................7927 Gridlocked!..............................................8128 Sticker Shocked!.........................................8329 What if Your House Was on Fire?..........................8530 Is That Brain Bucket Too Tight?..........................8731 Do as I Say, Not as I Do!................................9132 This Is the End..........................................9533 Just the Facts...........................................97Literature Cited............................................99

Chapter One

Start Your Engines!

Are you a good driver? Most will answer yes to that question. Everyone would rather be known as a good driver than a bad driver. As a rule, humankind doesn't like being told, You're not doing that right. But when it comes to driving, a tiny bit of humility, the ability to admit you may not be as good a driver as you want to believe, may save someone's life.

I know what you're thinking: Who is this guy to give advice or instruction on driving? Why should I care about anything he says? Is he a driver's education teacher, a cop, a race-car driver, or a professional hauler? Heck, is he even a teacher? Well, I'm none of those things. The truth is, I've been given so many labels by so many people over the years that I've lost track. However, the label I wear proudly, which I hope will give you pause to consider what I've written, is survivor.

In early December of 2003, I had this great little car: a 2001 Hyundai Tiburon. A two-door, five-speed, with electric everything, and what my wife and I called a "two-grocery-bag backseat." It was a great value for the price, and, most important, it was super fun to drive. My wife told me, "Okay. You can buy it. But, first ticket you get, I'm driving it!" Like I said, fun to drive.

On the sixth of the month, that little car and I had to part ways, and, unfortunately, it wasn't painless for either of us. As I neared a bend in the road, a Nissan Pathfinder came around the bend with its rear end in my lane. In a split second, the driver of the Pathfinder overcorrected, and the vehicle spun toward me, out of control. As soon as the grille was pointed directly at me, the vehicle somehow found purchase on the slick road and leapt at me. It hit my driver's door at about 60 mph.

In the instant before impact, as I was staring at the right headlight of the Pathfinder just outside my driver's side window, I thought, Aw, crap, or a word very similar in length and meaning.

BANG!

The initial impact drove my car off the road, down an embankment, and into a stand of trees.

Lesser BANG!

The car came to a fairly sudden stop when it hit the trees at the bottom of the hill. I was slammed forward into the steering wheel. Unfortunately, enough time had passed between the impacts, so the airbags had already deflated. After my face rebounded from the steering wheel, I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and asked aloud, "Did that really just happen?" I then spit a mouthful of blood onto the passenger seat and replied to my own question, "I guess so ... I'm gonna have to clean that up." I looked around the car and finished my mini-dialogue with, "I'll never have to touch this car again."

The car was a wreck (pun fully intended). The car was so badly mangled that two weeks after the wreck, when the insurance adjustor first saw it, he assumed I was dead. His first words to my wife over the phone were an apology "for bothering you at this time of loss." I was lying a few feet away in a hospital bed—in our living room.

After a thorough inspection of the interior of the car, and deciding that it was a goner, I started wondering whether I was going to follow suit. I knew I was injured, but I didn't feel all that bad—considering. My only complaint at that point (other than the fact that my car had been destroyed) was that my mouth kept filling up with blood. When I looked in the mirror, I could see why. So much for all the money my mom had spent on my childhood braces. Sorry, Mom.

The paramedics arrived. Upon seeing my car, they were stunned to learn I was not only alive but awake and coherent. A short conference later, they extricated me from the remains of my ride. As the doors of the ambulance closed, the EMT in back with me leaned over and told me I was going to be okay.

I reached up to remove the oxygen mask and replied, "I know," and replaced the mask. Then, I promptly passed out.

A string of questions were my next conscious memories: "What the hell did I do last night? Why do my teeth feel funny? Why does my head hurt so much? And, most importantly, why is it so damn bright in here?" I thought them before I even opened my eyes. When I finally saw the laden IV tree above me, I remembered the wreck and realized it had been worse than I'd thought.

Because the driver's door had been folded in on me, I had suffered a half dozen broken ribs on my left side, a shattered left hip, a collapsed left lung, and a ruptured spleen, which was removed. My ruptured diaphragm required two surgeries, one then and one eighteen months later; it is now about a third Gortex. During the secondary impact of hitting the trees, seven teeth were broken when I bit through my lip into the steering wheel. Again, Mom, I'm sorry.

To the amazement of many, including my doctors, ten days after being admitted to the Adirondack Medical Center in Saranac Lake, New York, I was heading home.

I would still spend two more months sleeping in a hospital bed in our living room while I rehabbed, but I was out of the hospital—the hospital in which the person who hit me spent no time.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad the other driver was not seriously injured, or worse. In a perverse way, I'm glad that my injuries were the worst suffered. As my mother would be happy to tell you, I...