Skiing on Sour Milk

Reading this article earlier: 101 Uses For Soured Raw Milk, it reminded me of my once skiing on sour milk. No, I didn't ski ON sour milk but I skied BECAUSE of sour milk.

It was a long time ago, the late 70's. I was roughnecking for a man who lived in my home town of Miami. I lived in Pampa and had to drive to his house every day. There wasn't much of a drive after that, thank goodness; the rig was just outside of town, not even a five minute drive from my boss's house.

Still, I had to leave home fairly early in the morning in order to get there by shift change - 6:30 a.m. At the time, the speed limit was still 55mph and I gave myself 30 minutes to drive the 23 miles to Miami. One afternoon driving back home, however, my muffler fell off and I knew driving through town and on the major highway that I would most likely get a ticket, so the next morning I went the back way along Farm-to-Market Road 282, passing right by where I grew up and my folks still lived.

Thank goodness there was a small convenience store on the outskirts of town;  it was where I stopped every morning and bought my usual breakfast of a sausage/egg biscuit and a pint of chocolate milk. (Breakfast of champions - or that of lazy bachelors)

I was running behind a little later than I liked;  this drive added close to ten miles more to my usual route and I hadn't factored that in when I left that morning.  The road was deserted as it is most any time of the day, so I stepped on the gas when I got outside of town, my pickup sounding like a race car on steroids.  It was so loud I didn't even bother trying to listen to the radio as I usually did.

Trucking along at around 70 mph, I remembered my breakfast - I grabbed the sack and keeping one eye on the road and another trying to unwrap the biscuit sandwich, I started with my morning nourishment. I noticed a shimmer on a normally dry playa lake on the south side of the road, still off in the distance, probably a mile or so away. Must be some water in the lake, I thought, remembering that it had rained during the rig move and making the location a mess.

Here's a Google Earth screen shot of the playa lake I was talking about.  The "X"  will play a part in the story - give it a minute. (I'm traveling left-to-right on the road)
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I took a bite of the biscuit, chewed a while because it was a little dry. It made me wonder if it was cooked a little too long or was left over from the previous day. I made a note to myself to complain about it the next morning. With one hand on the wheel, I used the other to pry open the container of milk   I took a swig, swallowed the liquid and what was left of the breakfast sandwich. I put the carton to my mouth again for another swallow and that's when I realized....

It was sour.  No, more than sour.  Sour would be delicious compared to the putrid fluid I had just taken in.  I started gagging and one memory will stay with me forever - the date on the carton, barely visible by the dashboard light, was two weeks ago.  (I'm about to barf thinking about it.)  The chocolate flavor had disguised any smell that might have tipped me off.

I started slowing down because I knew I was going to vomit and hoped I could come to a stop before I did.  Cleaning up the mess would make me puke again, I was sure. 

Slowing down probably saved my life, at least that's what I've always thought.  Still, I was going at least fifty miles per hour when I hit the water on the road.  The playa lake had overflowed across the road and there was probably six inches of water on the pavement.  The water immediately slowed me down from whatever speed I was going, but my truck started hydroplaning.  I was out of control in a second.  My vehicle did a 180 and I was suddenly going backwards. I don't know what sort of G-forces I encountered, but it nearly made me black out.   Then, just as soon as I noticed I was looking at the road I had just traveled, I did another 180 and was out of the water and onto dry pavement. 

I stopped, got out and emptied my stomach.  I'm sure the sour milk was the main cause of my being sick, but I think I also would have vomited from fear.  Ever been scared nearly to death? I have, quite a few times, especially from working on drilling rigs.  The taste it leaves in my mouth is like sucking on a penny - a copper and acid combination that must be the result of pure adrenaline rushing through my body.  I've never thrown up from it...or the scare...but I spit for an hour afterwards.

Here's another screen shot of the road and low spot.  The "X" is the place in the above graphic where I hit the water.

I learned a couple of things that morning:  One, to not speed on the way to work, even if it is on a deserted road.  I'd rather people say "That damn Mike is late." than "My, don't he look natural?"

The second thing I learned?  Well, it's a two-parter:  to always check expiration dates on food and to always....ALWAYS....smell milk before drinking.

Wanna know something funny? (or strange or stupid or whatever adjective you want to use, I wouldn't be offended.) Through that scary few seconds, when I was whipped around worse than an astronaut in a centrifuge, all through the time of trying to regain control of my vehicle, I didn't drop the milk.