Yesterday I was out and about in L.A. On a 2-lane surface street, I was in the right-hand lane and this white Prius was a car-length in front of me, in the left-hand lane. A motorcyclist was in front of him and the Prius slammed into the biker, sending the motorcycle and its rider straight up into the air. The rider and the bike crashed onto the ground, and both were motionless. I grabbed my phone, dialed 9-1-1 and kept an eye on the scene.
Because my friend Betro was recently the victim of a hit-and-run accident, I immediately scanned the Prius’ license plate and committed it to memory. I was placed on hold by the 9-1-1 operator (I kid you not) and watched as the Prius slowly moved to the side of the road. A woman wearing a lab coat (a doctor?) got out of her car, grabbed some first aid supplies from her trunk and began helping the motorcycle rider. About 17 cops pulled up (again, I kid you not) and I decided I no longer needed to wait on hold with 9-1-1. So I hung up my phone and walked over to one of the police officers. He asked me about what happened, and I told him all I’d seen (including the license plate of the Prius). He asked about that car, and we both looked around. It was nowhere in sight. After a couple of minutes, he told me he had all he needed and thanked me for my time. I got in my car and drove away.
Traffic really is terrible in L.A. I’ve lived here long enough to know this. But it still never ceases to amaze me when I witness a bone-headed move by a distracted driver. It’s unsettling and it’s hard to process. Take yesterday’s incident, for example. The brake lights of that Prius didn’t shine until after impact with the motorcycle. We all make mistakes, but come on. What was the Prius driver doing? Certainly not focusing on the road.
After witnessing the terrifying and ugly accident, it took a while for the adrenaline to leave my system. And during all that anxiety, I kept seeing the crash over and over again. The car hitting the bike, and the motorcycle and its driver flying into the air. In slow motion. It took about an hour, but my blood finally cleared the zoom-zooms from my veins and I calmed down. Then I realized I’ll never understand the driver of that car, or why he fled the scene. And I don’t have to. The accident didn’t happen to me, after all. I was merely a witness. And if nothing else, the event caused me to drive a bit more vigilantly for the rest of the day. And to appreciate home, when I finally pulled into my own driveway. Without injury. Without harm. There truly is no place like it.