December 2009

Posted 12-8-09. Elmer Botts saved my life on Sunday—or more precisely, Elmer Botts's invention saved my life. Who was Elmer Botts, and what was his invention? And how can an author who cannot talk give a book talk? For the answer to these questions and more, please read on:

     Thursday I spoke at the South Pasadena Public Library, in the city of South Pasadena, as part of a special presentation that began with the rock and country stylings of Cottage Industry, an acoustic four-piece band. Cottage Industry played a swinging half-hour set of car and driving songs that included "Route 66," "Take It Easy," "King of the Road," "Baby, You Can Drive My Car," "Pink Cadillac," and on my request, a rockabilly version of "Li'l Deuce Coupe." It was good clean fun. After the band finished, Steve Fjeldsted, the incredibly thoughtful and diligent librarian who organized all this, showed a clip from "Bullitt"—you know the one, where Steve McQueen in a green Shelby Mustang races after a Dodge Challenger over the hills of San Francisco in the greatest movie chase scene ever filmed. Afterward I did my thing for about an hour, talking cars to an audience of about 40 people, and when I was done I could barely talk.

     This was not, unfortunately, all that uncommon for me. At several of my talks in the past weeks my voice has gone hoarse by the end, although Thursday was the worst by far. By Friday morning, I could not speak above a whisper. With another speaking gig looming that night in Riverside, I sucked on throat lozenges, gargled with warm salt water, drank warm water with honey, tried Chloraseptic (apparently this is not always a good idea for those with laryngitis), ate oranges for the Vitamin C, and tried not to talk. (I have since learned, from my daughter, that a drink called "Throat Coat Tea" might have helped me.) But nothing much worked, and when I showed up at the Glen Avon Library in Riverside I sounded a little like Vito Corleone in "The Godfather," only not nearly as good.

     Luckily, Tracie Carignan, the librarian for the Glen Avon Library, and Kathryn Morton, the cultural events coordinator for the Riverside public library system, were there to reassure me. They, too, did a splendid job of organizing and promoting the event, and about a half dozen cool cats who lived in the area drove their custom cars and parked them outside the library before my talk, such as the smoking hot beast pictured here.

     We had another nice gathering of about 40 people—all of whom listened graciously to the speaker who made brilliant, incisive points while sounding disturbingly like a frog. I made it through, however, although I had no idea how I was going to handle my next set of appearances the next morning.

     At 8 a.m. Saturday, I was supposed to be at the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles to chat for a half hour with Josh Hancock, host of the Josh Car Radio Show. Then, at 9:45 a.m., I was scheduled to do a phone interview with Art Gould of The Car Show radio program, after which I was to do a signing at Autobooks-Aerobooks, a Burbank bookstore that is famous among car and plane fanciers for its vast treasury of auto and air books. Wanting to be close to the Petersen so I could get there quickly in the morning, I drove from Riverside and checked into the Motel Six in beautiful downtown Hollywood.

     Who knew that the Hollywood Motel Six was a major party hotel? Many twenty-somethings were there, roaming the halls, and they all seemed to be having a much better time than me. The loudest group occupied the room next to mine, and after efforts to get them to quiet down proved fruitless, I moved up to the fifth floor into a different room and became ill.      

     Well, actually, I knew I was sick as soon as I checked into the motel. Not sick as in the H1N1 virus or anything like that, but clearly, not good. I did not realize it at the time, but my sore throat was apparently an early warning sign that something was amiss. I took some Nyquil in the hopes of a magic turnaround the next morning. No such luck. When I woke up my nasal passageways felt like someone had packed them with Elmer's Glue, and I still could not talk. Being without a voice on the radio is generally not considered good form, so I made some quick calls to cancel my appearances, tossed all my gear into my car, and lit out for home.

     That was when Elmer Botts saved my life.

     It was on Interstate 5 in Kern County in the great San Joaquin Valley. I had left Hollywood about 8 in the morning, stopped for a muffin and some hot tea to get me going, picked up the 101, then switched over to the I-5 heading north. I passed through the San Fernando Valley and Santa Clarita, crossed over the Grapevine and then down it, and I was rocketing along the interstate at about 75 miles per hour when my eyes closed.

     I remember the moment precisely: the lids of my eyes fell shut. I was sick, I was tired and groggy, and I was probably suffering from a Nyquil hangover as well. When my eyes closed my car drifted from the right lane toward the center of the road where suddenly, gratefully, it hit some Botts Dots.

     Botts Dots, as they are called, are those hard, plastic bumps placed in the middle and along the sides of roads and highways. They're ubiquitous in California. I know about Botts Dots because I wrote about their originator, Elmer Botts, in Wheels of Change—on page 324, in a footnote. (A footnote!) In the 1950s Botts, a chemist with the California Department of Transportation, developed what he thought would be a pavement marker to help drivers see the lane stripes better at night and in bad weather. But when these raised and brightly painted markers were placed on the road, something unexpected happened: drivers ran over them and the jolt made them more alert behind the wheel. Botts Dots have since become a staple of transportation safety around the country and world, jolting sleepy-eyed drivers awake. 

     This is what happened to me: my tires rolled over the Botts dots and my eyes opened. I was falling asleep behind the wheel. Quickly I pulled off at the Harris Ranch exit, found a quiet parking lot behind a gas station, and took a nap in my car. Revived and feeling alert again, I drove safely the rest of the way home, where the loving arms of my wife and two sons greeted me. Thank you, Elmer.

     Next stop on the Wheels of Change road trip: Sunday signing, 1 to 2 p.m., California Automotive Museum (formerly the Towe Auto Museum), 2200 Front Street, Sacramento, 916-442-6802. It promises to be a capital event!