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Award-winning columnist Tom Archdeacon — an old-school storyteller in a brand-new venue — writes about sports, the city, southwest Ohio and anything else that catches his fancy… or yours.Home > Blogs > Through the Arch > Archives > 2008 > March > 07 > Entry
White knuckles … and an Asian massage
By TOM ARCHDEACON
INDIANAPOLIS — I saw a car that had run into the back of a fire truck. A couple of miles further there was a delivery truck that had taken out two cars and a big chunk of guard rail.
Then there’s the guy on a bicycle who I watched wipe out into a stop sign.
And that’s before I left Dayton early this afternoon for Indianapolis and tonight’s Horizon League tournament quarterfinal game between Wright State and Valparaiso.
As white-knuckle rides go, this one was a little skitterish the first half of the trip. I saw a Jeep Cherokee crashed into that new airplane-embossed wall that flanks the sweeping ramp that takes you onto Interstate 70 from I-75.
Near Brookville there were a couple of cars skidded into the median and at Exit 149A in Richmond, a Hogan semi was jack-knifed across the road.
As I waited in the stopped traffic, I looked through the blowing snow at a big golden billboard that trumpeted Sunshine Tanning and Asian Massages two miles down the road. Both sounded pretty good right then.
(If my wife is reading this, I’m just kidding, sweetheart). If she’s not, forget that last sentence and tell me next time you see me if I look a little tanner … a little more relaxed.
Some 10 miles beyond Richmond, the trip got a lot easier. There were still some white-out snow squalls and a few patches of black ice, but the weather in Central Indiana was nowhere near the wintery wallop that was hitting the Miami Valley.
As I was making the drive I tried to think of some of the more teeth-grinding moments I’ve had going to assignments for the Dayton Daily News.
Back in 1992, I drove around South Dade County and all through Homestead soon after Hurricane Andrew had nearly wiped the place off the map. I got there at night, there was no electricity so everything was pitch black.
Power lines, downed trees, pieces of buildings and overturned cars littered the roadway. With no traffic lights, anarchy reigned. Now that was scary.
Earlier that same year, I was in the French Alps for the Albertville Olympics. A New York Daily News columnist was driving our tiny little rental car and I was frightened to death when we got caught in a blizzard that made the mountainous winding road — with no guard rails — impossible to see.
Finally, there was the 2000 Olympics in Australia. After the games I took an old prop plane flight some 1,000 miles to the Outback. Then I rented a car and drove to a distant ghost town. It was near dusk when I began the 90-minute drive back along a desolate road to the old boarding house I was staying at in a town called Broken Hill.
Suddenly, out of the shadows, three huge shapes ran across the road right in front of my car. I skidded off to the side, my heart pounding.
In the distance, the three shapes stopped.
Three emus, those ostrich-like birds, turned at looked at me.
As memorable moments go, that even beats an Asian massage.
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