"Sorry to bother you mate, but I've just run over mum."

This really isn't a great way to begin a phone conversation with your son who has just this minute popped down to the store to pick up some bread for a convivial family luncheon.

The son had come over to help his retired, but not elderly parents chainsaw the ornamental tree uprooted by the fierce winds during the recent dramatic storms.

The storms had lit the night sky with angry cracking lightning, and walloping deluges of rain flooded streets and yards. The SES had been extremely busy clearing streets of massive fallen trees, uncovering cars bent beneath limbs and leaves, and providing emergency covering for houses unroofed by the violent winds.

This tree hadn't produced quite as much drama as others had experience around the state, and had been neatly and efficiently chainsawed up by father and son into dinky pieces of wood, suitable for a petite pot bellied stove. The chainsaws used for this exercise had been recently unboxed with a flourish; cute little electric numbers, just the ticket for tidy suburbia!

It's a bit of a challenge to put a positive spin on running over your children's dearly loved mother. Not a call that one would be proud or eager to make. It's not as if it was deliberate or anything like that, just a mistake. Unfortunate admittedly, unintentional (surely that doesn't need to be stated?) and extremely distressing for those involved.  But really, anyone could have confused the figure standing by the letterbox with a broom in her hands busily sweeping up fallen leaves and debris for a limb from the tree - couldn't they?

He'd said "Shall I move the car so you can sweep underneath?"

She'd said "Leave it a minute while I finish the driveway."

He'd decided to move the car regardless. Whether he didn't hear her, who knows, but the next thing she knows is that above the shwooshing sound of leaves being briskly whisked away to a new location, she hears the sound of the car, then whammo, she's on the ground, just missing cracking her skull on the brickwork holding up the metal letterbox. Oops.

Startled by the shock of finding herself on the tidily edged lawn face first in recently swept leaves, and aware of a sudden, unpleasant rise in blood pressure, she began cautiously to take stock.
Limbs intact? Check.
Gushing blood? No, thank goodness.
Obviously broken bones?  Hmm, possibly not.
Headache? Yes, definitely.
Nausea and shaking? Ugh, yes.

Husband's horrified face appeared in her line of vision - she shrieks, with a certain amount of force "don't touch me", no doubt sending the neighbours to the front windows to see what the commotion was all about.

"Ohmygodohmygod what have I done are you alright honey ohshitohshitohshit I didn't see you there I didn't mean to hurt you are you ok? ... What's that noise?"

She's dimly aware of him frantically looking back to the car.

He begins to take a step towards where it should have been, looks at her with undisguised shock and disbelief, and though he's clearly desperate to be by her side to comfort and apologise and tender assistance, he leaps gazelle like towards the violent metallic crunching, tearing, ripping LOUD noise moving steadily away from them into the road.

Craning her thankfully unbroken neck, she sees him leap into the driver's seat just inches before the car reverses into the over-the-road neighbour's front garden, and with the front driver's side door swingingly drunkenly at an extremely awkward angle, (definitely not according to the manufacturer's specifications) he swiftly and gracefully manoeuvres the runaway vehicle onto the nature strip ... without further incident ... or, more accurately none that she's aware of or that he admits to.

Apparently in the shock of the moment of hearing the thud of wife on ground in response to being nudged by the rear bumper bar, he'd leapt out, forgetting to shift the gear out of reverse and put it into park; forgetting to pull the handbrake on and also forgetting to shut the door. Oops.

Throughout the ordeal (I think it's fair to refer to it as such?) she managed to maintain her ladylike composure from her prone position, nose to dirt, and not utter any words that would have made her mother blush, although I wonder if in the privacy of the house later on, her comments might have been a touch more terse and colourful.

Bodies generally heal, the wifely one was bruised, shaken and distinctly upset, her blood pressure was unhealthily high, but is expected to settle quickly. I suspect she will invest in a high vis vest, flack jacket and crash helmet for gardening in future, it's clearly a dangerous pastime.

The car whilst technically drive-able was assuredly unroadworthy and unable to shelter its occupants from drizzle, rain or wind, and needed the tender, and no doubt expensive ministrations of the local smash and repair centre.

Interestingly this couple was thinking of purchasing a new vehicle. My suggestion would be to go for something with clear rearview vision, few blind spots and possibly a reversing camera. It's a no brainer really.

Thank goodness the paramedics weren't needed!

Blogged by Sue Travers
& based on a true story.

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R is for Roads - images of America

Talking about roads, of course I'm going to mention how terrifying it is being a front seat passenger sitting on the right hand side of the car when you're used to being on that side with a steering wheel in front of you. Used to being in control!

Flinching continually at the traffic is no fun, especially as it seems to be wandering all over the place following some unknown trajectory. Cars and trucks kept swooping in front of us at an extraordinary speed from unexpected and unfamiliar directions.


Why is that person speeding in from the right? He should be on the other side!

I suspect the drivers were, on the whole, safe, competent, law abiding citizens, it just didn't feel like it!

Four lanes of the wretched beasts - groan. Kerthunk, kerthunk, kerthunk went the tyres on the road. Whirrrrrring sounds like a helicopter low overhead were made by the tyres whizzing over the parallel lines in the road surface. Different, unexpected and all taking a bit of getting used to so you're not wondering if it's the car falling apart or some other dire event unfolding.

My sharply sucked in breaths didn't help the already stressful situation. When the GPS mentions turn right, does she mean now or metres ahead at the next sign???

And because you don't know the town or road names on the way to your destination, road signs aren't always particularly helpful. Joy, oh joy.

I suspect the tiny hire car may still show evidence of my fingernails in the seat, particularly from on the narrow, winding, steep roads with no shoulder and deep gutter, where locals naturally wanted to speed along on familiar terrain.

But even though we were hesitant, not one person raged, gave the finger or otherwise showed obvious signs of impatience. WOW!!

Thankfully, after some weeks, my nerves hit overload and subsided into a happy state of submission, or perhaps it was simply exhaustion. Enough in fact, for me to hesitantly suggest that I have a go behind the wheel. The hubster was extremely supportive - enthusiastic really, and made noises of encouragement as I zoomed off, sweat flying from my furrowed brow.


Roads disappearing into the distance with no cars take extra concentration so you don't stray onto the more familiar side!

We may have just been fortunate, but we found that the drivers were amazing courteous compared to many Aussie drivers who seem to consider any hesitation a personal affront. They regularly use the occasion to flex their finger and vocal muscles and test that the horn is still working ... for an extended period of time :(

You have to be a particular kind of person to hold the stop sign at roadworks near Death Valley. There's not a lot to distract or entertain you.

 A road disappearing into a lake. Will it go right or left over the crest?

In tones of wonder, we've been telling people "they made room for each other on the slip lanes", "they allowed other cars in", "no-one was deliberately obstructive", "when we walked across the roads, no one tried to run us over", "someone actually leaned out of the car and apologised that her car had crept forward".

Maybe we were just lucky - no doubt large cities have their own challenges and cranky people, but stressful driving was made significantly more pleasant by the attitude and courtesy of other road users. I wish that was more common here.

Driving in America is an experience I'll never forget, both for the courtesy of the other drivers and the heart stopping fear of everything being back to front!
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