I got stranded last night--about five miles from home. Ugh!
I was real proud of myself for almost making it 64 miles. Travelling down I40 at 25 MPH isn't the most efficient use of time, but I was deteremined not to be one of those numbnuts who kept whizzing past.
Driving into the snow, I focused on Terry Gross' interview with Texas death row lawyer David Dow on NPR's Fresh Air. Forcing the panic down and allowing the adrenaline to kick-in. In hindsight, it was quite an out-of-body experience. The interview WAS interesting and it kept me from freaking out as I lost sight on the road in front of me. No yellow lines to keep you in your lane. Visability practically nil. The snow highlighted by the taillights of the 18-wheeler in front of you.
Exiting the interstate was the easy part. Getting off the ramp wasn't. Alfred kicked it. Thank the Maker for All-Trac. It's like 4WD for my LS. God bless it. I cycled through two lights before Alfred was able to get it. Away we went.
Enter more numbnuts. Snow must be the swan song for every redneck with a pick-up. In a calvacade of vehicles--all riding to close together, I was midway. Numbnut #1 (in front) kept braking. As I paced well behind him, Numbnut #2 (Dodge pickup--behind me) decided to tailgate. The fight or flight response decided to fight. Conquoring hill after hill, Alfred and I advanced with minor delays.
A phone call from mi Padre kept me from travelling the last five miles. I'll be honest. I was so relieved. Nauseous and trembling, I was fine with reliquishing the pilot's seat. His skills are mad. And after making the final hill, I came to this realization:
My dad can kick your dad's ass.
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