Road rage reality sinks in after close call

I was never more afraid.

Forget the two flight-related scares I experienced during my three decades working in sports: a plane suddenly losing cabin pressure as it dropped more than 1,000 feet on a flight home from a UNLV basketball game in 1989, or a flight two years later when the plane got caught in the wake turbulence of a jetliner approaching Los Angeles International Airport and we were whipped back and forth and then jerked down like a chew toy in a dog's mouth.

In the latter instance, an airline official I spoke to told me we were lucky our pilot was able to pull out of the dire predicament.

Frightening? Yes. But those were brief instances of deathly fear. They were gone as quickly as they came.

They were nothing compared to what happened a late Friday night last spring as I drove home on U.S. Highway 95 as that stretch of freeway was under construction.

Although traffic was particulary heavy, I was enjoying life in the fast lane - fast, that is, being what traffic and construction speed zone restrictions would allow. Just as I approached Cheyenne Avenue, I noticed a large white SUV zooming up behind me, high beams flashing.

Normally, I would've pulled over to the right lane, thinking perhaps the driver was facing an emergency. But since traffic to the right was thick, there was no way to do so safely. And, considering he wouldn't back off his extreme tailgating, I questioned why I should even move over to accommodate him.

By the time we closed in on Craig Road, traffic to the SUV driver's right had spaced a little. He jerked into that lane, tailgated the person in front to speed up in a bid to get back into the left lane, and then whipped his vehicle in front of me, almost clipping the right front of my car as he did so.

As we passed the exits for Rancho and Ann roads, traffic thinned and the driver took off in a roar. More than a little miffed, I briefly flashed my high beams at him. If I had known Morse code, I would've flashed a choice verb and pronoun.

When I approached the top of the offramp to Durango Drive - my exit home - I finally had started to calm down. But that's when things really turned ugly.

The SUV driver had gotten off at Durango, too - something I had not considered - and he was held up by a red light for a left-hand turn. I was the only car turning right.

Once he saw me, the driver quickly pulled out of his lane, crossed over two to mine and tried to pinch me in against the barrier wall so I couldn't turn. As I saw him approach, I ran the red light , turned and raced to the next intersection, Farm Road, where I and a few cars in front of me were stopped by another red light.

The SUV driver followed, stopping slightly in front of me to my right. He jumped out of his vehicle, slipping and falling to the pavement as he did. He pulled himself up and raced to the passenger window of my car where, with the demonic face of Jack Nicholson in the "Heeere's Johnny!" scene of "The Shining," he began violently pounding on the window and shouting incoherently.

I quickly backed up - there was no one behind me, thankfully - and put my car in drive and swerved to my left into the lane for oncoming traffic as the SUV driver slipped and fell again. I sped through the intersection - fortunately, no cross traffic - and made it to Grand Teton Drive, where I prepared to turn right as I faced yet another red light.

I don't know how, but the SUV driver caught up to me, and again tried to pinch me in against the curb. I escaped a third time, this time blowing through the light and, instead of turning, I stayed on northbound Durango as he was held up by a stream of traffic going east-west on Grand Teton.

Further down Durango, I made a random series of residential street turns to a place where I could pull over and cut my lights and engine. I leaned down into the passenger seat, out of view, and called 911, my body and hands shaking, my mouth drier than chalk.

I explained to the 911 operator what had happened, and she advised me to wait five minutes and then drive to a nearby shopping center where there were plenty of lights and people. She said she would dispatch an officer.

I did as I was told, parked my car and walked to the front of a supermarket where I would look like just another customer, albeit one still shaking. I had waited about 10 minutes for the officer when I got a call from the 911 operator who said the nearest officer was responding to an emergency call and couldn't get to my location for a while.

"Have you seen the vehicle while you've been waiting there?" she asked.

I told her I hadn't, and she responded, "I recommend that you head directly home, but call back if you encounter the vehicle again."

Still frazzled, I got back into my car and quickly - and safely - made it home. There was no sign of the SUV driver after that, although for days I was hypervigilant, both day and night, when I drove Grand Teton, Durango and especially northbound U.S. 95.

To this day, I don't know what caused the SUV driver's fit of road rage. I don't know if he was drunk, on drugs or simply high-strung. Since he spent so much time and effort trying to attack me, I concluded his highway tailgating wasn't the result of an emergency.

My fellow drivers, if there's a lesson to be learned from this tale, it's that road rage is very, very real and needs to be taken very, very seriously.

While the SUV driver was in the wrong, I have to admit that to a lesser degree so was I.

If only I had taken the high road by not flashing my high beams.

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