A Close One

Yesterday, Col. Blake and I went to see the Braves get demolished by the Cubs in the first game of the split double-header. As we were there on sweet free tix, we felt no guilt leaving before the game was over.

I dropped him off at his house and started the short drive back home. I made a right turn onto a street and started up the hill, several blocks away from my house. Because it was a nice day out, I had the windows down and drove slowly to look at a nice granite wall in a yard that I like. Noticing something in my peripheral vision, I looked up and saw a car a few blocks away hauling ass down the middle of the street.

"Wow. That guy's driving really fast," I thought, making sure to get well into my lane. On seeing the two police cars in pursuit, I thought "Huh. Those cops are driving pretty fast, too."

Then, it dawned on me that I was about to be on the wrong end of a high-speed chase through a residential neighborhood. Seriously, the fleeing car had to been going at least 60 and was headed directly at me. I slammed on the brakes and pulled over.

The fleeing car tried to make a left on a street two houses in front of me. In the middle of the turn, the car started sliding. (Had the driver never seen a movie with a high speed chase?) I threw my car into reverse and started backing up trying to avoid being hit by an out-of-control, thoroughly ghetto Caprice Classic. From 20 yards away, I watched the car jump a curb and slide into the middle of someone's front yard.

Before the car skidded to a stop, it was like someone blew the doors off of a clown car. Automatically, all the doors sprang open and four guys bailed out and started running. The cop cars successfully turned left and pursued a couple of the guys who ran. Another two, well, they ran toward me.

In the split second when I realized that they might be armed and that I really didn't want to get carjacked, I stomped on the gas and backed the hell away. Honestly, it was some precision stuntman driving shit I'm talking about. When I got far enough away to feel safe, I stopped and watched the guys. They had stopped also, seemingly unsure about what to do. Apparently, standing around and waiting for the cops was all they could come up with. Frankly, I was okay with that.

A few seconds later, another police car skids to a stop behind me. As the policeman ran past me with his weapon drawn and pointed at the guys up the street, I thought it might be a good time for me to pick another route home and get the hell out of there. Before I became more involved in the episode of "Cops" that was playing out in front of me, I slowly started home an a more scenic route.

Thanks to the surge of adrenaline, I arrived home and immediately performed several acts of strength and skill. I felled a large oak with a couple of right hooks, ripped a few phone books in half, picked up my car, and killed a squirrel with a well-thrown rock from 200 yards away prior to devouring it.