Michael's Speed Zone

As I lay on the hospital bed, clad in a neck brace and staring up at the fluorescent lights, a thousand thoughts were jumping around inside my head. Not one of them was remotely good. There isn't anything be jolly about when you've just been in a car accident - especially when it involves a brand new Italian car that's just been loaned to you...

Rewinding about 12 hours, boss Julian Edgar had lobbed me the keys to Alfa Romeo's tremendous new 156 - mine for a week, and my very first AutoSpeed test car! Not one to waste an opportunity like that, I intended to drive and drive and drive... And so when a friend finished the grave-yard shift at his work, the two of us and a couple of female friends thought it would be a good opportunity to take the car on a leisurely cruise and kick back. Everything was flowing along beautifully - the car had swallowed the four of us and we were all enjoying the intimate luxury of the leather-lined Alfa. Some current sounds were humming out from the speaker system and I'd established a comfortable little niche behind the polished wooden steering wheel.

But our mood (and a whole lot more) was abruptly shattered by the brainlessness of the driver of a Hyundai Excel.

Having pulled up at a set of red traffic lights at a quiet multi-lane intersection, we all heard the terrifying sound of locked brakes coming from behind - the sure forewarning to an impact. A split second later (although it felt interminable, like waiting for a death sentence) our heads all snapped back under the extreme acceleration caused by over a tonne of Korean junk being thrown at the sculpted rear end of the Alfa. Double ouch - for the car and for us.

After the impact, I felt all the blood in my body rushing and I vice-gripped the steering wheel, teeth clenched. I felt like a kettle about to boil over. Our car had come to rest a few metres into the vacant intersection, so I quickly threw a U-turn to make sure the stupid *%^@ that had rear-ended us had no chance of getting away. We pulled up behind their significantly mangled vehicle and I hustled myself around to the back of our red beauty to sight the carnage. Oooh, shit...

The pair from the Hyundai approached me very apologetically, probably in realisation that they could very easily have been personally beaten to a pulp. The female owner and her boyfriend stood before me giving me that "Sorry mate, but it's just an accident" spiel, which just wasn't gonna cut it with me at this moment in time. "Don't worry it's just a car" spouted the upstart boyfriend. Again, I clenched my teeth and my fists - trembling as I held myself from putting him flat on the bitumen.

At this time, the female owner of the car stepped in and gave me her details. And within seconds of giving me the piece of paper, the four of us watched the damage duo darting back to their car, hoping to make an early departure. But that stoved-in Hyundai was going nowhere. We started getting a bit suss about the pair, and so tried to keep them at the scene as long as possible - while I secretly rang the police on my mobile. We tried. We tried to stall them damn it, but they ended up bolting on foot - while we waited a full 20 minutes (or more) for a patrol car. Since it took over 20 minutes to get to us in the middle of the city, I'd hate to think how long it would have taken in the suburbs! Of course, if you go slightly over the speed limit it seems the constabulary is jumping out of the bushes at you...

Once the two officers rolled up, we told them the story and got all the report paperwork out of the way. My mind was put to rest when the contact details that the young lady had fed me checked out with the registration details of her car. At least they were going to be held accountable for what they'd done... The four of us then all stepped back into the no-longer-virginal Alfa and took the jittery journey back to my house. Along the way there was abundant speculation about how the accident could have possibly happened, but one thing we all agreed on was that our necks were getting sorer and sorer...

A shaky drink around the living room tabled helped us all to gather our thoughts, and we decided it would be best for me to wake up one of my parents for a ride into the emergency ward at the nearest hospital. It's always awkward trying to explain to your parents (who are obviously still in bed at around 2 or 3am) that you've just been in a car accident and you need to go to hospital...

Luckily enough, when we arrived at the service desk, there were no other patients waiting; we got the express treatment. Each of us gave our particulars to the lady behind the glass booth and the first thing the good doctors and nurses did was set us up with full sized neck braces and lay us down on beds. Just to be safe. We then received word that we'd all need to be blood tested - a legal requirement necessary to confirm that I hadn't been drinking alcohol. That was fine, I shrugged. A blood sample isn't my idea of a good time, but I had a few other things on my mind at that stage! Three beds down from me though, I heard Vanessa erupting with screams of objection over the idea of having a long, sharp needle inserted into her arm. She cleverly put up enough of a fuss to get out of her test!

The doctor who was looking after me - Andrew - was a pretty cool sort of guy. Cracking jokes, humouring us, and even feeding us with blocks of chocolate. This was immensely valuable in easing our stress, but have you ever tried to swallow chocolate 'n' nut squares whilst lying on your back with a neck brace? It gets very messy!

One by one we were then trollied off on our beds into the cold, metallic x-ray room. Inside, we all got basically the same treatment - a quick snap standing side-on against a wall and another from front-on. It was all painless stuff, but I have to wonder why we each had to stand out fully exposed (not literally!) in the x-ray room while the nurse hid from the radiation in a separate sealed-off viewing room? Oh well, I guess we all gave off a nice green glow after our x-rays.

After that, we all got a physical once-over to check out our neck and shoulder muscles and ligaments. The common verdict was basically that we'd all be a bit sore and stiff for a few days, but there didn't seem to be any immediately noticeable permanent damage. Thank God.

Checking out the time on the sterile-looking hospital clock, we then all moaned over the fact that it had now drawn out to after 5am. And we were all supposed to work the next day - arrhhh...

At about 5:30, I finally arrived home again and that was the end of the horror night. But at the same time, it was also the beginning of the next day. There was no way on earth I would have been able to catch any sleep after this momentous ordeal, so both Cameron and I stayed up running on adrenaline and commiserated over our (mostly my) luck.

A phone call from Editor Julian Edgar was received at about 7am. He (understandably) wanted to check out the damage; I'd already told him about the accident on the mobile phone while still at the scene.

Once at my place, he looked underneath and all along the side flanks to get an idea of the damage - while I, on the other hand, could barely bring myself to look in the vague direction of the bent vehicle. He described the damage as "moderate", and was able to shine some light on the extent of it. He was also very calm and understanding - almost amused that shit like that happens to me as well! He'd already had his turn with the Alfa Spider and very nearly with the Mitsubishi Pajero io.... We walked around the back of the car in virtual silence, until Julian thankfully said he'd take responsibility in phoning Alfa Romeo and telling them the bad news.

Obviously, it didn't go down all that well...

Later on that day (by now I had no idea what time of the day it was) I was able to take the just-driveable Alfa Romeo back to the dealership from which we'd collected it. Pulling into their workshop filled with Porsches, Ferraris and other exotica, I could feel myself sinking down into the seat as the resident mechanics looked up to see the battle-damaged Italian Stallion. People stopped work and glared at each other in disbelief - we'd brought their baby back to them crashed just a day after taking it away pristine. Feeling like a really popular guy, I poured out of the driver's seat and glumly walked off to the pick-up vehicle, while Julian ventured upstairs to return the keys and take some heat. That was sure to be our last test car from Alfa. Or was it?

On the return trip home, I think we were all a bit taken aback to receive a call from the local press car rep, saying we could pick up another 156 to carry on with our test. We accepted with great appreciation, and apologised profusely about the last car. And although Julian offered me another chance to do the test, I just couldn't bring myself to take it.

Hmm, I think I need another stress-relief tablet...

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