Big Truck In The Beige Garage

This is the city: McHenry, Illinois. 5:20 p.m. on the 30th of May, 2002. I was working late at the office when a call came in from the wife. "There's a truck in our garage," Lisa said, her voice quavering. I told her that I'd be home in fifteen minutes.

In less than five minutes, I was driving to my house and steeling myself for a scene of incredible carnage. I knew that something was wrong, because having a truck in my garage wasn't normal; I didn't own a truck.

My first view of the intruder. Six-and-half tons of steel and rubber, sitting where the sun didn't shine before.

I live at the top of a "T" intersection, which is actually near the bottom of a hill. To the north by northwest of the house is Pin Oak Drive. The truck that was currently occupying my garage had been parked about 200 feet up the hill, on the west side of the street. According to the truck's owner — who was on the scene as the incident occurred — the truck's transmission was in gear, the emergency brake was engaged, and the wheels were turned inwards to the curb. Alledgedly the emergency brake failed, and the truck rolled down the hill, across Ojibwa Lane, across my driveway, and into the left side of my garage.

Looking up the hill from my driveway, this is Pin Oak Drive. The truck was parked on the left side of the street, just about where you see the mailbox and trash container.

The garage door was seven feet tall; the truck was taller. Everything below the roofline was displaced.

The front of the truck, as seen from the back of the house. (This picture was taken the next day, when most of the dangling debris had been removed.)

The accident had occurred at about 2:35 p.m. The truck's owner said that when he noticed the driverless vehicle attempting to escape, he chased it down the hill until he realized that he couldn't catch it and pulled a hamstring at the same time. The police were called, but no one on the scene knew how to contact us. Who says that there's a lack of privacy in this country?

When Lisa arrived home at a few minutes after 5, there was a police cruiser blocking our driveway, lights flashing. Lisa parked in the drive of the house to our west and ran back across the lawn. "That's my house!", she cried. Her first concern was "where are the cats?" Upon entering the house, she found one cat, Tesoro, looking inquiringly at her; the second, Scarlett, was crouching as she walked, as if expecting another loud noise to interrupt her; and the third, Galore, was hiding in the basement. Seeing that the cats were okay, Lisa then called me.

The major problem with the damage to the garage wasn't the lack of walls: it was that the truck itself was now supporting the 6-by-12 inch steel I-beam that crossed the middle of the garage. As the truck travelled down the left-hand wall, it stuck the lolly column that supported one end of the crossbeam, causing that end of the beam to fall, landing on the cab of the truck. The truck came to a halt because its undercarriage ground against the foundation.

The interior of the garage. On top of the truck's cab you'll see the I-beam. Note the gray wooden cabinets on the wall: there were three more units to the left of the remaining two. No, the iMac wasn't damaged; that's an empty box. The six-foot stepladder (its top is resting against the wheel hub) was mortally wounded. My bike survived with only a bit of dust on it. (You can see its seat, and a portion of its handlebar, about three feet to the right of the truck's wheel.)

Our immediate problem was finding a place to stay for the night. Although the main portion of the house was undamaged, the dislocated beam did cause the floor of the master bedroom — on the second floor, but offset to above the inside corner of the garage — to feel "springy", according to Lisa. The building inspector told us that until that beam was back in place with a supporting column, we couldn't stay overnight in the house. Fortunately, my mother-in-law lives in the same town, about six miles to the east. We gathered the cats and Lisa drove over to Mom's. I stayed a while longer to make some telephone calls, but by 8:30 I too was on my way across town. I had locked up the house as well as I could, but there was still a large truck supporting my garage.

Big Truck In The Beige Garage

Episode One: The Concrete Menace