After suffering in heavy traffic across the George Washington Bridge, the Cross Bronx Expressway, the Connecticut Turnpike, I was ready to try other routes. The Tappan Zee Bridge was as bad as the GWB and ultimately dumped me onto the same crowded highways. So, in desperation, I took a route that I thought would cross the Hudson just outside the sprawl of the greater New York metropolitan area--the Bear Moutain Bridge.
Boy, was I wrong! The route to the bridge, through the 47,000 acre Harriman State Park, was as crowded as any of the routes to the two larger bridges to the south. Plus, the driving rain and nighttime conditions made for poor visibility. My 10-year-old VW Jetta's wipers could barely keep up.
The approach to the bridge was a long decline on a curving parkway disgorging onto a 1920s era traffic circle. At the bottom of the hill, two lanes of highway traffic were made to yield to the vehicles in the circle. A sea of brake lights lay ahead. I applied my brakes. Nothing.
I was traveling at 45 miles an hour in driving rain as the red tail lights of the cars seemingly raced up to meet me. I foolishly placed all my weight, nearly standing on that brake pedal, in the hope that at some point the brakes would hold and my car would come to a stop.
Still nothing.
I could read the license plate of the car directly ahead of me. A quick glance in the right side mirror revealed a solid lane of cars. Impact was certain. I was seconds away from causing a multi-car accident. At that realization, I lifted my foot off the brake.
The car instantly "jumped" into the right lane. It landed perfectly into a space between two cars and maintained speed and I easily cruised into and out of the traffic circle and brought the car to a stop at the toll barrier.
I was rattled. I said to the toll-taker "You'll never believe what just happened." The no-nonsense toll-clerk didn't react to my comment so I continued over the bridge and poked my way through the dark along the narrow, twisting highways high above the Hudson, convinced that my Guardian Angel lifted my car out of danger and dropped it safely into another lane at the last possible second.
My mother was driving my `51 Dodge [with my 4 year-old sister in the back seat] crossing an intersection when an Oldsmobile doing 60 hit it. The Dodge jumped up into the air, spun around a couple of times and landed back in the same spot facing the same direction. No seatbelts in those days- Not a scratch on anyone, not even a dent in the Dodge. “What happened?” I asked my mother. She just smiled and said nothing.