About 30 years ago, I was driving along US Route 61, the road that parallels the Mississippi River. Oh, and this was in Southeastern Minnesota, where the east side of this road is a bluff with the river several hundred feet below.

It was night and there was black ice (the treacherous, invisible type) on the road ahead of me. I didn't know this as I hit it, and neither did any of the other cars beside me. As I spun out, I had enough time to think about what it would be like to plunge off the bluff to my death. My life didn't pass before my eyes, but time did slow down. Slowly enough that when one of my tires spun onto the snow-covered grass median strip and turned me inward, away from the cliff, I was able to wonder if any of the other cars would still hit me and knock me down there anyhow. They did not.

After a few moments I straightened out the car and kept on (slowly, carefully) driving because what else was there to do?