I was hunched over the wheel in the hammer lane on Route 80, in reverse and with my foot down hard on the gas pedal, the needle shaking at 80 mph, when an elderly lady knocked on my side window and shouted over the whine of my rear wheels, “You”ll never get out of a snowbank that way, Dumbbell!. You gotta rock it, Sonny! ROCK IT!” She climbed back into her 18-wheeler cab and pulled around me.
That was the lowest point in my many years of driving through the Garden State’s terrifying winter wonderland where there’s the alternate chances of a slippery high speed accident or being plowed into a snowbank miles from home.
Way back at the beginning of this blizzardy day, there was the usual timing problem, after I’d shoveled my driveway. I had to know just how far I could nose out into the road drifts to avoid being plowed in again.
When my nabe’s reasonably dedrifted, I’ll fishtail over to the highway entrance and find, to my dismay, that the enitire rush hour crowd has waited for my late arrival and the normal speed limit today is 50 yards per hour.
Two thrilling hours later I’ll arrive at the instersection of Boredom and Panic and be zigging and zagging my way around dangerously high truck bumpers and haphazardly abandoned cars.
I’m reminded, at this point, of a paraphrased Robert Frost poem: “Who’s road this is I think I know. His office is in Trenton, though. He will not see me stuck out here in the deepest blizzard of the year. My little Colt must think it queer, this moving sideways in third gear.”
The sad thought as you creep through each hazardous mile, is that you might be dumb enough to attempt to repeat the terrifying adventure tonight, trying to get home.
A surviving driver who somehow reaches his work place will spend the day with his snowbound inmates, reciting scary stories of near misses. Very little work will be accomplished. Later, each one will call home with an “I’m safe” message and a promise to return as soon as possible before the Spring thaw.
The thick Penske file I’d been working on will serve as a pillow on my desk and my absent boss’s emergency raincoat will serves a a blanket. Of course, my loyal overtime pay will come in handy.
Imagine That 