"Back it up, turn around in the road, pretend you're parking between two cars," Grant said. I considered his three suggestions now. I could have done any of them to an airplane or to a steamship as easily as to our suddenly formidable automobile. I knew that shifting into reverse would make the car go backward, but I had no idea how to steer or control it under such circumstances. Well, all that was rather advanced anyway, I comforted myself; for this first time, just driving around the road, going around a few blocks and coming home would be enough. I looked ahead on the road, trying to figure out where the first cross street was. All I saw was a huge house at the far end of the road. I hadn't realized the road ended there, but there was a house, so it must. I drove on. The house was growing larger rapidly, much faster than it should, considering the rate of speed at which I was creeping. Maybe the house was moving toward me, while I was moving toward it! I laughed gaily at my own whimsy, but I began to watch the house more sharply. I wondered if the excitement and nervous strain of driving had made me suddenly delirious. That house was coming toward me. Sweat broke out in drops on my forehead, and my palms were clammy on the steering wheel. Was this a nightmare? There was no doubt whatever now that the house was approaching me rapidly. And did I imagine it, or was there a malevolent gleam in its windows? When it was only a couple of blocks away I realized suddenly that there was a truck under it. Obviously the house was simply being moved to another location. But in spite of the renewed faith in my sanity this discovery brought me, I kept right on perspiring. There was no side road into which I could turn off, and there probably would be none before I met the truck. Since it is, naturally, easier for a car to turn around and go back the way it came than it is for a house-laden truck to do so, the driver of the truck was undoubtedly entertaining the foolish notion that I would turn my car around. We drew closer and closer together. There was no possibility of my squeezing by; the house stuck far out, even over the edges of the road, on each side of the truck. I was in despair. Why had this happened to me on my first time out alone with the car? But I didn't have much time for dramatic, rhetorical questions. Hoping for a miracle, I had continued slowly along the road, until now the truck and I were face to face. We both stopped. I sat there and pondered, my face growing hot with embarrassment. The driver of the truck honked, and the unshaven man beside him yelled, "Turn it around! Get it out of here, sister!" I sighed. There was no other way out of the mess, I realized. It might take me all afternoon, but I'd turn the car around--if it killed all of us!