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In writing these stories, it has become abundantly apparent that I have made some really bad decisions in my life. This story might exemplify one of the worst decisions I have made. Generally, when I tell this story I tend not to focus on my decision to get into Randy’s tiny, green Geo Metro. I tend not to focus on the fact that I knew Randy had been drinking Rum and Cokes that day. I have never mentioned that I knew I should not get into that car. But I did know, and I got into the car anyway, and I could smell the Rum and Cokes the whole drive…right up until Randy drove off a 25 foot embankment somewhere on the high-plateau of rural Colorado and and flew silently through the air, finally landing his tiny, green Geo Metro upside-down on a farmer’s gravel driveway. I knew, and I got in the car anyway.

Joe and I worked at Phantom Canyon Brewery together. He worked brewing the beer and I worked in the restaurant, so we didn’t really see each other that often. But sometimes after a shift, we would sit at the bar together and eat some food and drink a beer. We were doing just that one day when Joe and I started to talk about snowboarding. Somehow, the end of the conversation resulted in Joe and I going to Breckenridge for the next few days, but we both did not have a car at the time and we needed a ride. Joe had a friend, and his friend had a car, and Joe was certain his friend would be willing to drive us up to Breck. Joe called Randy and Randy was willing and we had a ride. Life was good. We would leave later that afternoon.

The first thing I noticed when Randy pulled into the driveway was that his car was GREEN! I am sorry to those who might have a green car and perhaps even like the color green painted onto a car. But green? Really? Maybe the old Jaguars with the deep, Racing Green color… maybe… but this was a NOT a Jaguar, and the color was definitely NOT Racing Green. Randy’s car was a Geo Metro and the green was not something typically found in nature. The second thing I noticed is that Geo Metro’s were (they are no longer produced, for good reasons) small. Tiny small! As in, how the heck do we get three big dudes along with three snowboards along with food and booze and gear and everything else inside this car? We did! Randy was in the driver’s seat. I was in the passenger seat with the seat pulled far forward and my knees crushed against the dashboard and Joe was sitting/laying with his back against the passenger seat looking out the back window with the back seats folded down. Beside Joe was all the gear. The craziest thing is that there were MANY glass bottles inside that car, and eventually those bottles would not be stationary, nor would they remain intact.

Randy was doing something with the tape player (Yes, I am THAT old) and he looked down at his car stereo. I remember watching him. I could smell the Rum and Coke. I remember thinking that I should be helping him. But the craziest, craziest thing in this story, at least to me, is that this is the first and last day I ever knew Randy. I knew this person for less than two hours and he changed my life drastically.

Once the wheels left the pavement, the silence took over. I can remember, very vividly, feeling awestruck by how calm and peaceful life seemed to be as the three of us flew through the air. I don’t expect you to believe me. I don’t even really believe me. But I remember as we flew through the air in a weird, tiny, green-colored Geo Metro pushing myself back into the seat and feeling a sense of calm I have never felt again in my life. At this moment, I was not responsible. I had no control. I lost all worries about the future and regrets about the past. Life just was, and it was awesome! I also knew that I was not wearing a seat belt and that things were most likely going to get real hectic in the next few moments.

For both car crashes in which I have been involved, the memory which remains most vivid is the amount of sound that happens. In the air, in the silence, Randy’s car flipped upside-down and landed on the roof. Once it landed, everything exploded! It landed on a farmer’s gravel driveway which promptly disintegrated the roof and pinned all three of us between the bottom of the car, now facing the moon above, and the sharpened gravel just beneath our heads. Actually, only beneath Joe’s and my head. Randy was not so fortunate. Somehow though, all three of us were able to get out from beneath the car.

The end result was that Joe and I climbed (on all fours, because it was so steep) back up the embankment we had just flown off. When we got back to the road, Joe’s lung collapsed. As Joe sat on the road, not getting enough oxygen to his body, making a weird rasping sound that reminded me of death, the night became suddenly terrifying. I was on the backroads of Colorado, no cars in sight, the farmer’s house darkened, with no way to contact anybody. I was going to watch someone die on the side of the road and Randy was still below, in hysterics and shock, muttering strange things, with his brain exposed to the cold, Colorado air because the gravel had taken the top of his head. This was bad. Really, really bad.

Around the bend came one car’s headlights. The only car we saw that night on that desolate stretch of Colorado highway. I did not care if I was run over. I was going to stop that car. I did manage to stop that car, and the only car I saw that night on that desolate stretch of Colorado highway just happened to be a State Trooper.

I will stop this story here, because the memory is a bit overwhelming actually. There are quite a few things I have left out of this story. It is different to write it down. Harder. When I tell this story in person, it is almost as if it can be entertainment. In writing, it is just remembering and feeling and knowing that I probably should have died that night. Everyone lived. Randy had to be airlifted to emergency care in Denver and I never saw him again. Joe suffered a collapsed lung, a damaged knee and some gnarly bruises. I saw him a few times. I did not suffer any physical harm. I walked away (crawled part of the way) and I am grateful.