Snow Daze

I’m sure everyone has their own horror story to tell, if they had to venture out on this snowy day. I’ll share mine. To think that it was near 80 yesterday.

My daily commute to work takes approximately 30 minutes from the So. County area to a certain affluent West County suburb. I decided to leave a little early this morning to give myself time in the event the roads were slick. At 5:15 AM, the snow began falling at a steady pace and a gentle accumulation was evident. However as I headed north on the I-270 corridor, the pavement was merely wet and the drive to Chesterfield was no worse than if a light rain was coming down.

An uneventful morning at work, but suddenly the skies opened up dropping little pellets of a snow and sleet mix. The snow flakes increased in size and volume and within an hour everything was covered. At 11:00 AM I was dismissed and told to head for home. I didn’t realize at the time I faced the brunt of the storm.

The hills of Highway Forty (I-64) were alive, but not with the sound of music. More so with the sound of racing RPMs and spinning tires as the big rigs , 4x4s and itty bity cars all fought for that necessary traction. Some gave up hope and merely stopped sideways and formed an obstacle course. The ditches lining the roadway were filled with mangled metal hulks reminding all that speed was not the manner best utilized to get from Point A to Point B safely. Up ahead I could see that traffic was backing up and I was far from my normal exit. I went to the right seeking an alternate route.

Things were much better on 141 for awhile. I traveled at the brisk pace of 25 mph, but I could once again see those little red brake light lining up in the distance. Once again I was in the middle of a traffic jam. Large piles of snow had collected in the roadway. The police officers surely had their hands full. One ingenious officer stopped the approaching traffic, walked up to a privately owned truck equipped with a snow plow and effectively commandeered the vehicle having the driver plow a path for the oncoming traffic. I gratefully followed his lead.

I broke away from the pack. At the neck break speed of 20 mph, visibility is limited to no more than 100 feet. A white out condition. Like a fighter pilot, I try to keep my focus on the horizon. I nearly miss a curvature in the roadway. My wipers are iced over and no longer serve their intended purpose. I need to change them. Give them a new purpose. I have come so far, yet the warmth and safety of my home and that psychotic cat, who I found in a furry ball sleeping soundly in his bed when I finally did arrive, seemed all so distant.

Another roadblock looms ahead. I find an alternate route on I-44. I cautiously enter the highway and the traffic appears light. Maybe a stroke of good fortune has finally come my way. I am soon returned to reality as the highway signs advise that all exits at I-270 are closed. Lindbergh will be the next best bet, but a big rig refuses to permit a change of lanes. With all the courage I can muster, I gather speed and give him an “eat shit and die” smile as I finally make my move.

The remainder of the trip was humdrum compared to what I had been through. Slushy roads and a few 4x4s trying to show off. Elapsed time of travel: 2hr, 38 min. My hands had gripped the steering wheel for so long and with such tenacity, they were black. My foot hurts from riding the brake. My back is sore and a beer would be most welcome.

Each storm brings the same message from the spokesperson for the road crews. “We will be ready.” They never are. Not that they are grossly ill prepared, but you can’t fight Mother Nature when she decides to dump on us with such vengeance.

It is still snowing at this time. The scene is beautiful and has a much different meaning when viewed through a picture window rather than a windshield. It could almost be romantic.