Starts with K
Dear Mr. Gruner,
As president and CEO of Volkswagen Group of America, I thought you should know something.
On Jan. 8, I was driving my beloved 2000 Jetta TDI to an early-morning assignment for our local paper when I hit a patch of black ice as I came down a small hill that curved under a railroad bridge.
As the back end slid out from under me, I realized it wasn’t going to end well – likely with me sliding smack into a stone underpass.
Now, when I tell you that I love that car, I’m not kidding. My husband brought her into our marriage, and I have been the main driver ever since – more than 20 years.
In her life BK (Before Kay), the Jetta carried my husband to ski trips and skydiving events; she was the car one of his two daughters drove on her first big solo road trip, blasting CDs of NSYNC, Alicia Keys and Blink-182.
The car was just four when we met, long before she was damaged in a sudden hailstorm, keyed on a Sunday morning or leaking slightly in the car wash.
On Jan. 8, she was on her 519,000th mile, and going strong.
Then we started to slide.
There was just enough snow along the side of the road to create a perfect little ramp, sending us up and over the guardrail.
We dropped about 20 feet into the ravine below, landing upside down.
I was stunned.
The Jetta was still running – revving, actually – as I watched icy water run under my head, so I turned the ignition off. My phone, miraculously, had ended up beside me.
I called 911, and was less-than-helpful to the poor dispatcher who was trying to figure out my location; I couldn’t come up with Main Street – Main Street, for heaven’s sake – and finally said, “I’ll probably be the only car that’s upside down in this ditch.”
Aside from hanging upside down, held in place by my seat belt, I was not hurt. My knees felt sore, likely from banging up against the dashboard on the wild ride down the slope.
First responders – so many first responders – were there quickly. They were all so kind, so professional and so patient with me, reassuring me often and working hard to affect what was a tricky rescue.
The firefighters started pulling on the driver’s side door; when I unlocked it, it opened. It cried a little, but it opened.
That seat belt held me until a paramedic crawled through a broken window and positioned himself under me. Then I pushed the release, and the belt came off.
Full disclosure: When I landed on that sweet medic (because gravity), he let out the tiniest “ooof!” and I wanted to cry.
“I’m crushing him!” I told the responders outside. “Help him!”
Instead, he – and they – helped me. I was able to crawl out of the car, everyone asking solicitously where I hurt.
Mr. Gruner, the answer was, and still is, my heart. The Jetta was totaled.
I have such guilt about it.
She got great gas mileage, a necessity in a job like mine that requires lots of driving. We averaged 50 miles to the gallon.
All six of our children learned to drive a clutch with her. My sons still ask to drive if we go somewhere together. Our oldest grandson, with a fresh new driver’s permit, was going to start his lessons this spring.
We have so many fond memories of trips in the ol’ Jedi, as she was called, from coast to coast and most parts in between; miles and miles of memories.
A dear friend said it best, I think, as I bemoaned the loss.
“She served you and yours well, and in the end, she saved your life.”
That she did, Mr. Gruner. I thought you should know.
Sincerely,
Kay