Where I-85 meets I-285 in Atlanta is a well-known landmark called Spaghetti Junction, an insane wowzer of over and underpasses, on and off ramps, composed of 16 bridges, the tallest of which rises 100 feet in the air. It’s a scary place. A number of bad accidents there. The bridges are skinny things with mack trucks barrelling over them. There is no side of the road to them. Ask an Atlanta driver how’d they like to break down on one of those skinny Spaghetti Junction bridges.
So, it was evening rush hour and we were heading out to the suburbs where H.o.p. was to trick-or-treat with his cousins. He’s got his Halloween costume and bucket with him. We were groaning about the traffic but it was expected and was moving pretty briskly after a point. But we were all still kind of grumpy and things were feeling chaotic in the way that they feel chaotic when you’re in Atlanta traffic at rush hour and wondering if you’re going to get to where you’re going on time. We realized we probably would as we started up one of the Spaghetti Junction bridges. And we hear this pop somewhere in the vicinity of the engine. And the van starts to slow down.
We broke down on one of the Spaghetti Junction ramps. Broke down flat dead. We were in the left lane and there was no pulling to the right. Marty managed to guide the swiftly slowing car over to as far left on the bridge that there happens to be which isn’t much so half the van was sticking out into the lane. Cars and mack trucks are zipping up behind us and honking as they maneuver to pass. Like we would be sitting there if we had any alternative. Your auto is no safe place to be but to get out of it would be certain suicide. There’s no walking off this bridge. Marty called 911 and informed of the situation and they said the police would be there soon. I don’t know how long we sat there, maybe 15 to 20 minutes. Marty counted 4 times we were nearly rear-ended, while I was thinking about how if someone rear-ended us we’d go sailing right off the bridge and onto the interstate below. And it was twilight and quickly getting darker. I was thinking that if I thought it was dangerous and frightening sitting there in twilight, it was going to be loads of fun when it was dark. Marty says it’s one of the scariest situations he’s ever been in his life, which echoes my assessment of the situation.
I really really really didn’t want to be a headliner on the ten o’clock news.
Finally, a police car arrived. The towing service we’d called had said it would be 45 minutes before they could get someone to us. The policeman said that was no good and he’d get someone there in ten minutes. The blue flashing lights behind us on the bridge were a great relief. A mack truck would think twice before smacking those. I wondered what the policeman was thinking as we all sat there waiting for the tow truck. Was he hoping no one was going to rear end him and send him slamming into us? And if he wasn’t worried about that, then what was he thinking about.
He didn’t look real happy. He didn’t smile when he came up to talk to us. He frowned throughout.
It was longer than ten minutes but finally the tow truck came soaring up the bridge behind the police car and pulled over in front of the van. Oh, he looked like such a nice guy. A big smile. By now I’d convinced H.o.p. this was an Adventure! We climbed into the back of the tow truck into a cloud of petrochemical fumes where I promptly began to almost have an asthma attack, now that we were out of the van. I stifled it while the guy hooked up the van as quickly as I’ve seen done and as he climbed back in H.o.p. exclaimed, “This is an adventure!” and the tow truck driver grinned. As we drove off, H.o.p. crowed about how it was a very bumpy great adventure. The driver dropped us off at a Burger King on a nearby highway, which made H.o.p. even happier. He ate a burger and fries while we waited for my brother to come pick us up.
We just got the van out of the shop a couple weeks ago with a bill of over $800 for rebuilding the front end. We’d said, “Ah well, that’ll keep us running for a little while.”
Little while was right.
But we made it to the suburbs in time. H.o.p. went out trick-or-treating and came back with a full bucket.
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