Probably the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me on a highway took place between South Carolina and Texas. After Rick and I had been married seven months, we packed our belongings into a small trailer and pulled it 1000 miles to Fort Worth. The journey was long and arduous, especially since our trailer had instructions to drive no faster than 45 mph, and Rick decided to stick by that rule. Also, since he felt uncom- fortable with the trailer behind our car, he bypassed Birmingham, and we spent two days driving through the Alabama countryside.
Somewhere along the way, perhaps in southern Georgia, we were driving along when we heard a strange noise . . . a voice . . . coming from a merge ramp. I glanced to my right, encountering a little red car, then a man with dark, curly hair shouting through his open window, “Moove Ooverr! Moove Ooverr!”
Since no one was around, I said, “Rick, I think he wants you to move over.”
He did, even though it wasn’t easy with the trailer behind us, and the little car chugged onto the highway and proceeded to pass. Just as the man’s window was even with mine, he turned his face toward us and said in a twangy voice, “Thank you!”