I'm sure there are hundreds of auto accidents in Los Angeles every day. I mean, you see them and their remnants all the time. Busted-up cars block traffic for hours and bits and pieces of bumpers, glass, license plates, and light housings litter the roadways. But even worse is when everything is cleaned up off the road and traffic still slows so slack-jawed rubber-neckers can get a better glimpse of the wreckage. Recently, our '07 project JK and I became part of that roadside wreckage.
I've done some pretty stupid stuff on the road before that fortunately didn't result in an accident. But this time, I was just driving. While motoring down one of the larger downtown L.A. surface streets, I noticed a silverfish Honda waiting, perpendicular to oncoming traffic in an intersection ahead. He was trying to cross a total of four lanes of uncontrolled traffic-not an easy task when it's busy, which of course, it was. I kept thinking and even said aloud to myself, "Dude, don't do it, don't do it," and before my tongue could roll off the third "don't," Mr. Honda launched. The only thing that went through my mind was that I hadn't even shot photos of the aftermarket front bumper I had recently installed. And this jackass was gonna screw it and the Jeep all up. Well, that and, "Dammit, this idiot is gonna nail me!" Only I imagined a few more choice words. I let off the gas, went for the brake, and swerved as best I could to avoid him until the impact knocked the Jeep over a few feet into the next lane. I followed up with a few exceptional expressions degrading the man's intelligence and upbringing, which of course, I yelled aloud to no one in particular (I was the only one in the Jeep). I aggressively grabbed Reverse thinking he was gonna take off in hit-and-run fashion. Fortunately for him, he pulled over. There likely would have been a minor case of Honda forced into a tree at high speed if he had tried to drive away.
When I pulled up, the dumbass in his late 50s, came to the door of the JK asking if I was OK. I wanted to strangle the old man like a Christmas chicken. But even pushing and leaning into it, I couldn't get out of the Jeep's crunched driver door. By the time I climbed over the passenger seat, I had calmed down enough to only yell, "What were you thinking!" All he said was, "I thought I could make it." I looked at the side of the Jeep to see there was no way he could have hit it any more square in the middle even if he tried. I mean, he scraped the flares and the front wheel, but the majority of the damage was right in the center of the door and rocker. I looked down at the crushed area yelling, "Look at this! This Jeep was brand new!" His only response was, "So is my car, I haven't even put the plates on yet." Of course, I could have cared less about his car. It could have been rolled over and on fire, and I wouldn't have noticed. I was fixated on the damage to the Jeep. I reached down to the factory rocker guard, which looked as though it was somehow hovering there in the twisted metal, and it fell to the ground with a loud clang. I gasped, motioned to the guard now gently rocking on the asphalt and yelled again, "Look at this!"
Eventually, I calmed down enough to get all the info from him and a witness. Today, I actually feel pretty fortunate. Not that I was hit by someone who should retake his driving test, but fortunate to have walked away. Had this old man been a half-second quicker to make his dimwitted move or me a half-second slower to approach it, the wreck would have been way worse. I would have T-boned him at a much higher rate of speed, and I likely wouldn't be writing this from my office. Perhaps it would have been from a hospital bed, or maybe not at all.-John Cappa