accelerate

Uncle Bill and aunt JoAn (grandad's sister) would often come over to grandad's for dinner if we were there for a holiday, or we would visit them when we were in Racine. They lived on a street with a view of Lake Michigan. When my brother and I were pretty young, they got us a membership in the WWF and a subscription to Ranger Rick magazine. I think uncle Bill was involved in the yacht club, and aunt JoAn was a member of the Audubon Society and a prairie preservation group.
Uncle Bill was a fairly short compact man with a wry sense of humor. He had large thick glasses and always seemed to have his pants hiked up too high, but that's the style for some old men. When he was telling a story, or a joke, he would often be looking down at something else he would be doing at the same time. When he got to the most interesting part of the story, or the punch line to the joke, he would pause, and look up over his glasses to watch the listener's reaction. It seemed he was always saying something interesting or funny, so I'd be watching him waiting for the punch line, and he always seemed pleased that someone was paying attention.
One summer in the eighties, my brother and I took the train to go visit grandad and Carolyn, our step grandmother. The train was only about five hours late to Chicago. I'm not sure if Carolyn had called ahead to find out if the train was on time, or if she'd killed five hours doing things in Chicago, which wouldn't be hard to do.
We spent some time doing things in Racine, and then got ready for a trip to the shack. Uncle Bill came with us. On the way up, grandad was driving and I was in the passenger seat. Ross and uncle Bill were in the back seat. Uncle Bill had dozed off. We were on a divided highway, and I noticed some signs indicating there was construction ahead and that the lane we were in would be closing. I kept waiting for grandad to switch lanes, but he didn't, and he didn't seem to be planning to. We had pulled up next to a big truck, and I saw that it wasn't very far to where our lane ended.
I said, "Grandad, this lane is ending, we need to get over."
I expected he would slow down and slide in behind the truck.
He said something like, "What? Oh, yes, I saw that."
But I wasn't sure that he had. He jammed down the accelerator and we started passing the truck, but the lane started narrowing and it didn't seem like we would make it past the truck before the lane ran out. I think grandad must have floored it and the car downshifted and the engine roared as we were about to clear the truck. As the car squeezed in front of the truck, there was a loud crash and a thump as we smashed over the last construction barricade. A shower of plastic and wood splinters flew up onto the windshield and over the car. I was stunned. A large piece of orange and white reflective painted board slid over the hood and came to rest in the middle of the windshield. It seemed like it was sitting there for a long time, but it was probably only a fraction of a second before it was blown up and over the car.
Uncle Bill was roused from his nap by the loud noise and the bump.
He said, "What's all the racket?"
Grandad said, "Nothing, go back to sleep."
The windshield was cracked and when we stopped for gas, we saw that the driver's side headlight and running lights were smashed, the top front part of the fender was completely stove in from where the battery of the construction light hit, and there were scratches along the fender and hood. Grandad acted like it was no big deal, and uncle Bill just shook his head.