Last night, we were driving down the Carefree Highway due to the necessity of a horrible detour caused by a fatal accident that closed Cave Creek between Deer Valley and Pinnacle Peak Roads, thereby preventing us from entering our subdivision in any convenient way. We were going about 55 or 60 mph when Sandi started screaming, “Cows! Cows! Cows!” I understood her to mean that there were cows in the road but I couldn’t see them at all because of my poor night vision—the fact of which got me permanently medically rejected from the military (all branches).
Then all of a sudden I saw them enter the light path of my left headlight. A herd of three cows was crossing the highway maybe ten feet in front of me. Luckily, I was able to swerve in time to avoid the first one—who was also the biggest of the bunch—but not in time enough to avoid completely freaking out.
My heart was racing for the remainder of the fifteen minute ride as my mind played out the scenario of smashing into a bovine wall and catapulting my unbuckled wife through the windshield (she was feeding one of the girls, who had been screaming as if she had last ate a week ago). I’m glad that we avoided the collision and I’m especially glad that Sandi looked up from feeding when she did because I may not have seen the herd in time.
And yes, this is an altogether too common occurrence in the northern reaches of the great metropolitan city of Phoenix. Sandi’s been late for work because there were cows loose on Cave Creek, a major thoroughfare. In fact, the north side of Pinnacle Peak Road is fenced off as range land.