I was reading an article from The Rapid City Journal, the newspaper in the town in South Dakota where we lived at the end of the 1980s. I graduated high school there and started my radio career there.
The article is focused on memorable features of the area in the 1980s and 90s, and included this photo and the story behind it:
It's a left- side exit that led to, among other things, the Rushmore Plaza Civic Center (home of so many great concerts), 8th Street (the road to Hill City and Mt. Rushmore), and what was the First Federal building (home of my first radio station).
Just to the left of the photo -- and anyone who ever took the exit can verify this -- is a curve that gives you a tug of centrifugal force when you drive it, even at the speed limit.
One night in February, 1989, while driving to work, I hit a patch of black ice there and destroyed my car. And probably came the second-closest to dying I've ever been. Struck a huge iron light pole head-on, rolled the car at least twice, and hit my head.
This innocent little photograph triggered a big anxiety attack yesterday when I finally scrolled down far enough to see it. It stayed with me all afternoon and into the evening.
I saw that Exit 57 sign in my nightmares for years, well into my 40s.
I was all of 18 years old the night of the crash.
It turns out that some memories are difficult to step away from. Even after decades.