I’ve mentioned several times that I grew up in northern New Hampshire, but I don’t really think I’ve ever given a specific example of how that affected me. The other day an incident occurred that reminded me of one of my more unpleasant memories of the North Country.
When I was in high school, the news had a horrifying story. Two state troopers were transporting a prisoner down Route 25 in Warren, NH one night when they met a logging truck near a narrow bridge. Somehow the truck’s load shifted and the truck rolled. The entire load tumbled on to the cruiser, killing all three occupants.
A couple years later, I went to college. It was about an hour from home, and the most direct routes went right past the accident scene. And every single time I made the trip back to see the ‘rents, I thought about that accident when I passed the scene.
To this day, I get nervous as hell whenever I see a lumber truck, and if I have to pass one, I gun it as fast as I can and get out of what I consider “the death zone” as fast as I can.
I know lumber trucks are very safe vehicles, and such accidents are incredibly rare. But subconsciously, I don’t care. Part of me is convinced that it’s gonna happen THIS TIME, and TO ME.
So, what’s your irrational fear?