About 2005 I was driving the Lincoln Mark VII to Salt Lake City. As usual everyone was driving fast and the traffic was fairly heavy. For some reason I was in a hurry to make an appointment, so I moved over into the inside fast lane.
As we neared the top of the freeway going over the Point of the Mountain doing about 70 MPH, I looked down at something in my lap or the seat for just a couple of seconds. When I looked up my lane was stopped about 50 feet ahead. At 70 per there was no chance of my braking to avoid smashing into the cars ahead. My left hand grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it instantly to the left. There was just enough space between the cars ahead and the cement barrier dividing the freeway lanes for my car to whiz by all of the stalled cars. Within 50 yards I had slowed down so as to find a gap in the fast lane at a much reduced speed for the remander of the trip north.
In the minutes following this close call my mind was full of gratitude for survival for me and those in the cars I might have smashed with the heavy Lincoln. I attributed this miracle to my guardian angels.
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