"Walking Away From The Ledge” The Cut List: Vol. 2. These are the stories that didn’t make the cut to the final edit in my book.
Some of these stories will jump around, but I’ll do my best not to leave you, the reader, guessing when and where they happened. It’s common in the military to hear about a young private who pays way more for a sports car than they should. While I didn’t get ripped off like most, I still had some antics with that car.
I finally had a car that I bought around March of 2001. It was a black 1996 Firebird Formula, featuring a 350 cubic inch engine, a six-speed transmission, and T-tops. It was fast and fun, to say the least! I know what you’re thinking - a dumbass private bought a fast car and got ripped off for 20% interest, but no, that’s not how it went. I bought the car and refinanced it through my home bank the next day at 9.6%, their rate for a first-time buyer. I didn’t have much, if any, credit, and this was my first purchase with no co-signer. “Best I can do is...” as they say on “Pawn Stars.” Why is he bothering with this detail? Glad you asked! 
Buying a ticket online from Raleigh NC was exceedingly cheaper than at the counter in Fayetteville NC so I figured with savings I would drive myself to Raleigh, leave the car in parking there, that way when I get back, I can hop in my ride and be back to post without having to use taxis and a bus like I did the year prior. I thought this would be a good idea since it doesn’t snow much in NC.
I’m listening to the pilot update us and weather reports as we are an hour or so out from landing in Raleigh. Long, anxiety-filled story short, we were landing with three to four inches of snow and more on the way. I had to drive my sports car with summer tires for an hour and twenty minutes back to Fort Bragg in the snow. Dammit! It’s ok, I thought. I grew up driving rear-wheel-drive cars in the snow in Washington, and this is only four to six inches of snow in total. I can handle that.
We land, I get my luggage, get to my car, pay my toll, and I’m off. The roads weren’t too bad, yet. I kept it slow on the freeway, like everyone else, and stayed in the center lane so I wouldn’t be on the mild slope of the left or right lane. It was working well, we were all going along just fine, and I was going to make it. I also had to be back by midnight to sign in; otherwise, I would be considered Absent Without Leave (AWOL). Mind you, I didn’t know this would be a special circumstance that wouldn’t get me in trouble, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time.
Up ahead, the traffic seemed to be slowing down, so I slowed down to give myself some space. There was someone stopped in the middle lane, and I should’ve done the same, but I was feeling confident, and with time not on my side, I decided to switch lanes to the left so I could continue around the stopped vehicles. The lane change was my downfall. A short while after that, I started to lose traction, so I slowed down further, downshifted, and eased out the clutch, doing everything I could to prevent the tires from spinning while keeping the car moving straight. The summer tires had all the snow they could deal with.
No matter what I did, the back end kept pulling left until I had inches between the rear left quarter panel and the guard rail. I kept trying to get it to go straight and then turn left, but in the end, the panel rubbed up against the guard rail, and the damage was done. I decided to use that as a push-off point, but even then, I was stuck. I turned the hazards on and waited for help. It wasn’t but a couple of minutes, and then a cop stopped to see if I was ok. He called for a tow, and I continued to wait. A few more minutes passed, and a large Ford F350 stopped. The driver asked how he could help. He had a tow strap, so we wrapped it underneath, and he got me off the rail and into the center again. I thanked him and continued to make my way.
It was over, I’m good and on my way… nope. The snow picks up, and the freeway is starting to look bad. I make a mental note to ensure I give myself an extra day’s buffer on future winter leaves. I’ve made the drive to Raleigh a few times now, so I’m thinking that if I make it to Sanford, which is 25 minutes outside of Bragg, I can stop at a gas station, get something to eat, calm my nerves, and make it the rest of the way, ok. I’ll be late, but they should be understanding due to the snowstorm.
The snow is getting thick, and I know I’m not going to make it. The car is getting squirrelly on the road, and I know I have to stop. I remember an exit coming up and know there’s a lone gas station I can stop at, so I take it. The snow is fresh; there's not a track on it. No one has taken this exit the entire night. I pull into the gas station; the lights are off, and the only other vehicle in the parking lot is an 18-wheeler that must’ve stopped to let the storm pass.
I tried to call every number I knew to let anyone know I wouldn’t be there until morning, but there was no answer anywhere. I tried to get some sleep, but I didn’t want to let the car run all night, so I would get some sleep in between allowing the car to warm up, shutting it off, and then getting cold. I wasn’t going anywhere until daylight, so I could at least see well.
Some broken sleep later, light was starting to shine through the clouds and the trucker never came out of his truck to rape me. I decided to head on the Sanford. Started the car, let it warm up, and headed out of the gas station. I couldn’t see the road as the snow had no single tire tread mark, so I guesstimated where the on-ramp was. I was dead wrong; I hit the median, popped my car up onto the median, kept on the gas to make it across to where I could see the road for the onramp, dropped back off the median onto the ramp, and then back on the freeway.
NC doesn’t have plows or salt trucks, so the roads weren’t clear, but they were better than when I stopped. The worst part for me was that the closer I got to Sanford, the better the roads looked! I finally arrived in Sanford and stopped for some food and coffee. As I got back in the car and was getting ready to head to Bragg on Highway 87, I looked to the left and saw a guy in a big truck doing donuts right on the highway. Right next to me was a cop car, and he watched the guy to make sure he didn’t hurt himself or someone else, and when the guy was done, let him drive off. No harm, no foul, I guess. I laughed rather heartily at the one.
After I finally returned to Bragg, signed in from leave, which no one seemed to care that I was late for, and got back to my room, which, by the way, had no operable heat, I went back out to my car to assess the damage. Through all that quarter panel rubbing, curb-hopping, and snow-driving dilemma, I considered myself lucky to have only about a three-inch rub spot on the panel. Not under the clear coat, and no visible suspension damage. Welcome to 2002.
Want to know more about some of these situations? You’ll have to get the book “Walking Away From The Ledge" for more details! If this story hit home—or reminded you of your own service—drop a comment below or share it with someone who might need it.
