When I was twelve or thirteen (Born in the USA had just come out), my family drove out to West Virginia for a camping vacation much like any other. Woods, bears, hiking, rock outcroppings, canteens full of smelly water, you know the drill.

So we were on our way back, driving up route 19 towards New River Gorge, when it started to rain.
Scratch that: the sky turned to water. About halfway across the bridge, and about halfway through "Dancing in the Dark" on my birthday Walkman, our metallic blue 1978 Malibu Classic station wagon began to hydroplane.

Left first -- we skidded into the jersey barrier in the middle, our prow still facing straight and true, bounced, and skidded to the right, across the lanes and into the barrier on the right, which delivered us a glancing blow and sent us careening back across to the center barrier, which we bounced off and skidded again to the right.

At this point I looked out the window to see that we had now crossed the span, and were headed straight past the end of the barrier and towards the berm and the 800 foot drop into the gorge, still hydroplaning.

I guess it was the gravel that finally grounded us, but our tires found purchase and we lurched to a stop, a few feet away from a flip, a tumble, and infinity.

Bruce Springsteen sang, "Hey, baby!" and Clarence Clemens played scales as I looked back to where we had come from, and saw a line of stopped cars, drivers whose presence of mind made them spectators rather than participants in my family's brush with death.

To this day, when I hear that song on the radio, I remember exactly at what point in the music we hit each barrier, and exactly how it felt to be sitting in that still car, bewildered and relieved, and the look on my father's face as he turned to touch each of us to reassure himself that we were safe.

Now the US mint has given me another trigger for one hell of a memory.

That's a scary looking bridge, dude. I'm glad you're still with us.

Good lord. I got palpitations just hearing that story. Glad you're OK, Hugh. (Makes my husband's fear of driving over bridges seem a lot less irrational.)

Ooooooh, wow. Really. WOW.

*gulp* What a ride.

I like you, Janus, and I'm glad the story ended the way it did.

So I don't suppose you've gone down for bridge day, hm? Maybe you could come take a bungee jump, and slay the demons. Who knows?

Holy smokes. Hair raising indeedy.

Man, that's quite a story! I got a thrill seeing the quarter because it made me remember my first time kayaking the New underneath that bridge-there is some big water there when it's high enough, but that ain't nothing to your story.

I lost a quarter once out the window of an Arby's.

Oh man, Wolfdog, I don't even want to tell you about bungee jumping in Kentucky. Too scary. Maybe in a few months.

But I will tell you about a dream I had Wednesday night.

I was taking a cab home from my midtown office holiday party, up a few blocks to the 59th St. (Queensboro) Bridge and across to Long Island City. But the cabby took a wrong turn before the bridge, and we ended up kind of east of where we wanted to be, in this weird (imaginary) subdivision just south of the bridge's pilings.

The neighborhood looked like East LA or something, without the menace. Low buildings with small yards laid out in a grid. Dust and a feeling of vacancy.

We came to a stoplight, which turned green, and the cab didn't move. I wasn't paying attention, and we sat through a cycle before I realized that the cabby had taken off, leaving the door open but taking the keys, as if he was so embarrassed by his wrong turn that he couldn't continue on.

So I got out of the cab, and walked over gravel to a wooded lot directly south of the bridge. There was a hill leading up to a fenced-in limited access thruway to the bridge, which is closed to pedestrians. I wandered around on this hill for a while, trying to find a way back into the city to catch a cab across the bridge.

Eventually I ran into a fellow high up on the hill, beneath the passing cars, who was fishing -- he had cast a line several blocks to the water's edge from where he was, and was dressed in a white or light blue jacket (it was dark). Seemed kind of gruff, and when I asked him how to get to the other side, he said, "Not from around here."

So I cast about a bit further for a way over, until I finally thought, this is such a stupid dream. Such bullshit. I must have my feet tangled in my sheets, or be thirsty, or really have to pee. What a waste of time this dream is.

And I woke up. My feet weren't tangled but I did have a nice long piss and a glass of water before I crawled back into a dreamless sleep.

That's quite a story Hugh. Reminds me of the time I was nearly trampled by Caesar Rodney ahorse to the tune of the Bangle's "Manic Monday."

holiday party? Shouldn't that be CHRISTMAS party? The reason for the season and all that? Huh?

Geesh....

Geesh

Don't you mean, "Jesus Christ!"

I thought snow penises were the reason for the season.

My mom was showing me how to make spaghetti sauce when I was much younger and used the phrase, "the reasoning for the seasoning."

I don't even want to tell you what memories are triggered by the reverse of the Wisconsin quarter. It's unspeakable.

LOL, stilicho.