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I was young once. Young and foolhardy.

It was the early 90s, the mid-early 90s to be more precise. I was working at Uptown Bakers in Washington DC, 3313 Connecticut Ave. It was a lovely place that made fantastic bread, eye-opening bread, enchanting bread. Also, the management was thorough and more than fair. It was a great job, no complaints, save the extra pounds.

It was across the street (and down half a block) from the Uptown Theater. My friends would see a show on the giant screen, and then walk over to the bakery and tell me about it. Then I'd get off work and either we'd go catch the next show or we'd go to a restaurant, take over a corner, and eat and talk. It was a fun time.

I had a friend who worked at the bakery. One night, just as work ended, we decided to hang out together. He wanted to stop by his house for a bit, so as we walked to our cars, I shouted "Give me directions" and he yelled back, "Nah, just follow me"...

In hindsight, that would have been the moment for me to put down my machismo and yell back "No, I'm not getting in my car until I have decent directions", but, alas, that's not what happened.

Instead, I just gritted my teeth, too afraid to appear the wimp, and ran to my car to get focused on following this guy.

Did I mention it was drizzling?

Did I mention that it had rained heavier during the day?

Did I mention is was late Fall?

Before I get to the action, a word or seven about my car, the Geo Prism. It was one of the best cars I ever owned, slightly behind my '93 Chevy Camaro and my current love, the 2000 Nissan Xterra. It had great traction and stability (especially in the snow), used very little gas, and had a wonderful engine mount that allowed me to change the spark plugs in less than a half-hour, in the parking lot of the local auto parts store.

So there I was, driving down Rock Creek Parkway, following my buddy. It was drizzling, the ground was slick, and it was Autumn, providing swirling schools of leaves throughout the kingdom. And... my buddy was driving twenty miles over the speed limit! Yay!

Again, here is where my machismo could have been placed down gently, allowing me to put my foot on the brake and find an exit so that I could head home, where I would await his phone call, suffer his ridicule, and then gear up for a re-meet.

Nope. Didn't happen.

What did happen is that I pressed the gas, gripped the wheel, and started praying, really praying, asking G-d to pay special attention, to make sure I arrived safely.

This was the first smart thing I did that evening, and certainly the smartest of my life.

For a minute or so later, the coolest thing happened. Well, that is my post-event thinking. At the time, it was incredibly scary, although there was no time to be scared.

Let me set the stage. Rock Creek Parkway is a very, very windy road that goes through Rock Creek Park, connecting The Lincoln Memorial and The National Zoo. It's two lanes in each direction, running through beautiful land covered with sections of trees and sections of meadows. Very pretty, very peaceful, a little bit of heaven in a morally bankrupt city.

Ok, so I'm in the right-hand lane, heading slightly downhill, towards Connecticut Ave (although at the time I had no idea where we were going). Also, it's 6:30pm, right in the heart of rush hour. It's drizzling enough that I need the wipers, but it's nothing heavy. But the roads are slick and I am pretty nervous, taking S-curves way too fast.

Here's where you should slow down and read this carefully. After you read this, you are going to call me a liar to my face, but I tell you that every word is true, as is, with nary an embellishment.

Again, I'm in the right-hand lane. He is getting further ahead, so I press on the gas. In that moment, the road curves to the right. As I turn the wheel gently, I hit a large, long, thick patch of wet leaves. My tires decide to override my decision to follow the curve right. Instead, I am dramatically propelled straight, which forces me to leave my lane and cross the left-hand lane. Fortunately, the left-hand lane was empty at that exact time and space. Wonderful empty space for me to travel through. Now all I had to do was gain control of the car and pop back into my lane.

Except my tires were still too slick, so no matter how hard I jerked the wheel, my car wouldn't go back to the right.

Here comes the double yellow line.

I cross the double yellow, into oncoming traffic. Real fear sets in. This is no longer a possible fender-bender. Death is on the line.

But an amazing thing happens. Remember that empty left-hand lane? Well, when I crossed the double yellow, the opposing traffic lanes were, at that moment in time, completely empty. Oh, sure, there were cars fast approaching, but there was a gap, a lovely, lovely gap. All I needed.

I jerked the wheel a final time, and this time the tires found their teeth. My Prizm pulled hard in the opposite direction, sending me back into my correct lanes. Fortunately for me, the cars behind me saw what was happening and braked appropriately. This cleared a path, which allowed me to settle back into my appropriate left-hand lane.

Uh, no, not really.

What was supposed to happen was I was supposed to settle into my appropriate left-hand lane. What really happened was that the road was still pretty slick and my foot was still tap-dancing between the gas and the brake. So when I hit my lane, I didn't stop. I kept going, heading past my right-hand lane and towards the right-hand curb. I braked hard, popped the curb, and onto a meadow, sliding hard.

Sliding right towards a stand of trees.

I was now standing on the brake, turning the wheel left, kicking up a massive amount of dirt, just like in the movies. Slowly I dropped speed and momentum, but those trees were still approaching, those tall, strong, unforgiving trees.

I ended up completely stopped about three feet from the nearest trees. Completely unharmed.

I was dazed, not even able to process what happened.

Next thing I knew, a couple were knocking on my passenger side window, asking if I was ok. Then my buddy appeared, screaming at me, because I had given him such a fright. I got out of the car, he yelled for a few more seconds, then hugged me as we laughed. I hung out for a bit, surveying my car (no damage, just some dirt to be brushed off the hood), and surveying the emotional impact of the moment. I laughed a lot, even whooped and hollered for a bit.

Then I got back into the car and continued to follow my bud back to his place. This time he drove considerably slower.