We eventually found our way and negotiated the uphill climb and the sharp turns without incident. The only problem left was that we were running out of gas. We had to find a gas station soon.
Because we were unfamiliar with the place, we weren’t sure if there was a gas station along the road that leads to the Sta.Rosa exit. We couldn’t take the risk of discovering there was none. We were quite sure that in the town proper, somewhere in the vicinity of the Tagaytay rotunda, there would be one. Yes, there was one along the E. Aguinaldo Highway a hundred meters north of the rotunda.
As we refueled, Mon and I discussed whether to go back to the road leading to the Sta.Rosa exit, about three kilometers from where we were refueling, or to take the E. Aguinaldo Highway where we already were. Since I was behind the wheel, I favored going back to the road leading to the Sta.Rosa exit to the Expressway to avoid going through the towns, the intersections, and the stoplights. But Mon convinced me to take the E. Aguinaldo Highway since, he said, it was night and he expected the road to be clear of traffic. He was right.
The road to Manila was clear and we cruised comfortably along the highway. But since the road was dark and there were no street lamps, when we came to a fork-road in the town of Silang and saw no signboards, we decided to take the straight road instead of the road that curved left. But the road that curved left was the right road, the E. Aguinaldo Highway. The road that went straight was the wrong road, the road that led into the town proper. We knew we had entered the town proper because there were tricycles here and there, the road became narrower with many small intersections, with houses, shops and street lamps along the road, and lots of people going about.
We came out again into the highway after about fifteen minutes of slowly plowing the town streets of Silang.
Apparently — in hindsight — we were still too early for the rendezvous with destiny in Dasmarinas; and despite already getting lost in the Midlands, we lost our way again! just to be at the exact place at the exact time when that man would cross the highway.
To get lost, run out of gas, lose your way a second time, then hit a man at 80 kph along a highway all in one night, happens to very, very, few people.
But for a man to get hit by a van at that speed, and break no bones, damage no organs, sustain a six-inch gash on his neck without killing him, he had to get hit at a very precise angle. This can only happen in the Perfect Accident. And it happened only because the Perfect hand of God had directed it all to happen.
TO GOD ALMIGHTY BE ALL THE GLORY!
(Note: The man was given a minimum recovery period of ten days by the neurosurgeon but he opted to get out after seven days of confinement in a ward. He was discharged upon his own insistence, against the advice of the doctor, on the seventh day. And as he went home, he was happy and thankful—and so was I—that God had given him a second lease on life.)