I was looking again at the news article about the school bus accident in Missouri. I drove a bus there for about a decade, and the location is very familiar to me. The accident took place at the bottom of a long, sweeping curve on I-44. Even an old yellow sloth (my busses were all Nixon-era Fords) could get up a respectable 65 mph, and there was nothing in particular in front of us. It's summer, and the kids are in high spirits, on the way to Six Flags. It feels good to just let the sloth roll.
It's one of those wrecks that shouldn't have happened, and it wasn't really the fault of the 19-year-old kid who rear-ended the truck. The bus driver had no excuse. I know how well I could see, even in those old busses.
It's a bitter reminder of the life-or-death nature of just going somewhere for some fun. This afternoon I drive to Columbus. I think I'll take it a bit easier and watch the traffic a bit better.
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