Honda Civic vs. 18-Wheel Tractor Trailer

1985. My step-sister and I were on our way to the restaurant where we worked after school and on the weekends. We were in a little orange, 1982, hatch-back, Honda Civic. I was driving, and sister was in the passenger seat.

We left our neighborhood outside the town limits, and was cruising down the two-lane highway towards town. This road crosses a railroad track, and at this time the lights were flashing to warn of an approaching train. There was no signal arm to block the road, but as a smart and cautious teenage driver, I stopped at the crossing.

A short line of cars were stopped on the other side of the tracks; workers coming home after 5:00 p.m. No train was to be seen in either direction — and in this flat, open farmland terrain, we could see a couple miles or more. But there was a strange screeching and air horn sound coming from behind us. I looked into the rearview mirror just in time to see the big yellow front grill of an 18-wheeler.

WHAM! The truck slammed into us from behind, shooting us across the railroad tracks. It hit us at such an angle that we were flying right to the line of cars on the other side of the tracks, but in total instinct, I managed to wheel us to the right and away from another collision.

My feet had come off the brake and clutch, and we had enough momentum that I steered us off the road and into a business parking lot on our right. When we came to a full stop, my sister and I just looked at each other. “Are you alright?” we both asked. “I don’t know,” we both answered.

We got out of the car. The rear was completely crushed in such that had anyone been sitting in the back seat, they would surely be dead. Then we saw the 18-wheeled truck that hit us. It was jack-knifed up at the signal lights.

The truck driver was rushing over to us, and people were coming out of the business. “Holy crap,” I think I said. Comparing the huge size of that truck to the little size of our little putter, how did we survive that hit? How were we not even apparently hurt?

My sister went into the business to use their phone. (We didn’t have cell phones in those days.) I stood out by the car shaking as the adrenaline rush started wearing off. People were talking about the accident — what they heard, what they saw, how lucky everyone was.

Turns out the truck driver had already been down this road that day, and he knew the train signal lights were malfunctioning — had been signaling all day — and he just didn’t notice that our little car was stopped there until he was too close. He slammed on his breaks, and his trailer started to jack-knife, and that kept him from hitting us at full speed.

As I mentioned, it was after 5:00 in the evening, and the road was full of folks heading home from work. My mom was among those travelers. She came down the road and got caught in the long line of traffic waiting to slowly get around the scene. And then she saw our car, smashed all to hell, in the parking lot. When she pulled into the lot, she could see her son standing there, but she didn’t her step-daughter.

I don’t remember seeing Mom pull into the lot. I don’t remember much of anything more than a minute after getting out of the car and before being in the hospital emergency room. I think the shock and adrenaline rush overwhelmed my memory cells.

At the hospital, the emergency doctor gave both of us a look over. I had a knot on my head, and my sister had a sore neck, but we had no visible wounds or injury. The staff took some x-rays, but nothing showed up. My sister got a neck brace, but I don’t think she wore it 24 hours.

We were the talk of the area for a few days, as many people on their way home that evening saw our wrecked car and the jack-knifed truck. People were surprised then, and I am still a bit surprised today that we weren’t seriously injured in that collision. I mean, that truck outweighed us by a few tons, and shot us directly towards other vehicles.

I like to think it was my quick thinking that saved us, and others, from a second, head-on collision. But that would mean I’d have to say with a straight face that I did something other than think, “Oh shit!” and react purely on instinct. At least I didn’t mess my pants. That’s really the only heroic thing I can claim in that incident.

Bullgrit