The Road Less Plowed
Lake Effect Snow and Inner Drive
Awoke at 4:15 am to take my sister to the airport. Cross-country flight. Airport clear across town.
Looked out my window to check road conditions. Glover was black. Limeledge was white.
Good thing we were taking Glover.
Around here, flat roads remain unplowed—or underplowed—that early. When I finally reached the 695 onramp, I drove to the left-turn entrance because no plow had yet touched my right-turn entrance.
Learning a lot about traffic flow at 4:15 am.
I had hoped the southern roads would be clearer on my way back. The weather band ran to the North.
No such luck.
When I turned onto—to now climb—Glover an hour later, the road was white.
Low gear. Traction lights on the dash.
Got up to Frayda’s old house, where the hill gets steep and begins to wind. Despite my low gear, I hit a slow skid.
Stop. Downshift. No traction.
Do I pull into a driveway to get off the road? The two nearest—and super hilly—were snowed in.
Hit reverse.
Ditches on both sides. Snowfall clouding my backup camera. Heart accelerating.
Move to the side. Move to the side. No shoulder, but out of the way as much as possible. Not the ditch. Not close to the ditch.
Put it in Park. Hit the hazards. Wait.
Fewer than 5 seconds in Park, amber flashings appeared in my rearview.
Under these conditions, I found any traffic, approaching or behind, annoying and distracting. The visibility was fine, but against the predawn dark and my headlight glare on the snowflakes—let alone the road conditions—traffic was one variable too many.
But this traffic now behind me meant a plow.
The driver stopped. I assessed my position. Hit reverse again. Backed my vehicle to the right another foot.
The plow still didn’t move. I decided to get out of my vehicle and motion that the driver could proceed. That, in fact, I needed him to proceed.
I did more than motion. I yelled. Go ahead! Go ahead! I’m stuck here! Stuff like that. I don’t know if the motions I made along with the yelling clarified my intent, but he took the hint.
The right blade went up and the plow moved into the oncoming lane. No one was oncoming. As he inched past my vehicle, he moved the snow and dropped an environmentally quesionable amount of salt and sand on the snow-covered road.
I collected myself and waited until he made it around the curve by Glover’s farm and disappeared from my view.
The road was not black, but it was no longer white.
At least, where I intended to drive.
I’ve driven up this hill in the snow for as long as I’ve been driving. Its curves and incline are part of my genetic code. Who can count how many trips my mother made on this road both as driver and passenger with me in utero? I’ve watched countless others traverse this entrance to the stratisphere before landing in our driveway on the corner lot at the top of the hill. Some with familiarity. Some with startled disbelief.
As I faced the not black/not white Glover Road, I knew that this was no time for low gear.
Time to Drive.