Sometime before I awoke this morning it began snowing, and a foot had accumulated by the time I was off to work. The Weather Channel's 7 a.m. prediction had called for clouds and a 30 percent chance of precipitation, so I felt betrayed when I discovered the day's weather to be far more sinister. Gloveless, I set about brushing heaps of snow from my car while it warmed up.The drive was slow but without the sliding and bad driver shenanigans that can make an icy commute miserable. The chief setback came as a formidable mesa of snow that I had neglected to remove hopped from my hood onto my windshield as I ascended the onramp linking two of the freeways that eventually lead to my office. It was then that I ran out of wiper fluid. The blackened slop thrown in my face by the cars I trailed was little help as a cleaning agent — the wipers just smeared it around, reducing my view to a murky gray haze.
Luckily, the high speed snow blinding occurred just as my soundtrack was reaching an emotional peak, and the potency of the rock gave me the resolve to power through the mess. I'd reached the fifth track on The Sword's Age of Winters — The Horned Goddess — which is modern classic motor music unrivaled outside of Highway Star. It hyped me into a grinning headbanging session that was only temporarily derailed by my sudden perilous lack of sight.
My faith that pulling over was unnecessary and that the situation would resolve itself paid off, and soon my relentless wipers had cleared the block and cleaned the window with the help of the clean snow still blowing from my hood, now in more manageable amounts.
The song came to an end, and the restrained, melodic intro to Iron Swan signaled it was time to change albums. I opted for Liquid Swords, which carried me the rest of the way.
I worked throughout the day, accomplishing a great deal.
At 6 p.m., before returning home, I refilled my wiper fluid with an extra gallon I was thankful to find in my trunk.
Although a chilling, snowy wind still prevailed, the roads were relatively dry and trouble free. The fellow driving too slow in front of me proved frustrating, and nearly caused disaster when he decided a 20 mph drop was prudent merging onto the freeway, but what little sense of danger was present during the morning drive had subsided. The other drivers and me were confident as we rushed home post-rush hour.
I was nearing the final stretch when I noticed an overabundance of brake lights ahead. Concerned, I immediately slowed and eyed my rear view mirror fearing an inattentive pickup or other barreling missile. But everyone was on the ball and reacted appropriately.
When I began to fishtail, I considered panicking. Things suddenly got swervey and the car had stopped listening to me. I looked around and was relieved to discover a wide berth in all directions, but the car's decision to make a hard left tempered my optimism. My mind blank, I pumped my brakes and encouraged the car to avoid the concrete divider past the shoulder. Amazingly, it complied, and pulled to a stop on the side of the road. I had performed a lurching 180 and now faced oncoming commuters to my left. The unusual perspective added to the surreality of the moment.
Unharmed, I sat for a moment until I was assured my spin out hadn't caused any further trouble. The other cars cautiously rolled past, their drivers focused on the situation directly in front of them. I became aware of the music blasting from my speakers; it was the song Sex Born Poison by Air. It seemed totally inappropriate and I turned the volume all the way down in response.
I quickly evaluated my options, which I had narrowed to turning on my hazard lights and staying where I was, or signaling a left turn and flipping around back into traffic. Choosing the latter, I waited for a break. A kindly sedan stopped and its driver waved me on, so I made my u-turn and proceeded home. I turned the Air back up as well as the heater, which I switched to cold and cranked to full blast.
It all happened very quickly, as trauma tends to do. As I gently crept along in the right lane, I noticed others swerving behind me, but no accidents. It seems the sudden lack of traction was caused by the road's transition from solid black pavement to slick grooved concrete. I slip around on the stuff in the best of conditions, so it was an unsurprising
culprit.Shaking, I remember the large electric signs I had mocked and photographed on my morning commute, which had warned drivers that the road was "slushy and icy." The message had made me laugh twice over given how impossible it was to notice the iciness.
I still think the signs are funny, but now I understand that they had a good point, too.
