Physics suggests that pulling into a residential driveway at 50 miles per hour from a state highway is a bad idea. About one-eight of the Chevy makes it on to Magnolia. It soon joins the majority of the car hurtling towards the bottom of a ditch, propelled by the combined forces of spin, gravity and incompetence.
This is not ideal. I’m in a corpse of an automobile six feet below a gravel path. The engine sounds like a helicopter scything through a migratory flock of sparrows. Fox News confirms that Mitt Romney has begun speaking. Redemption was an adroit turn away.
Fortunately, this is Iowa. A pick-up truck pulls over next to the ditch. “Did you mean to do that?” asks the driver, throwing doubt on America’s trouble with sarcasm. I explain that I am collateral damage in Mr Romney’s war on punctuality. “That’s a lot of trouble to get yourself in for politics,” he says.