"I am leaving now" read the text to Emily from me at 5:05pm yesterday. I was leaving from an appointment in Farmington Hills, a northwestern suburb of Detroit. It had been raining most of the afternoon and snow was promised. I decided to make for home 120-ish miles away for a couple reasons. Emily is leaving for a week at the end of this week and I have been traveling a lot. I thought it would be nice to see her at least a little before she leaves. And were I to stay and ride the storm out, I would have to go to a far northeast suburb to my lodgings. Lastly, we were to meet with our attorney to finalize our trust, wills, medical directives and such.
I estimated that it would take me two hours under present conditions during rush hour to get northeast, or about three, maybe three-and-a-half to get home to GR, my wife, my cats, and my bed. Beside, it hadn't started snowing... yet.
It took 15 minutes to get to the highway and once there, I sat still. The once recalcitrant snow now fully and forcefully falling. To pass the time, I spoke with my attorney, who canceled the meeting I was heading westward to make. I spoke with a co-worker, I spoke with another co-worker. I spoke with Emily. And upon ending that fourth conversation I realized better than an hour had passed and I hadn't traveled the five-and-a-half miles of 696 west.
The roads were very bad and I couldn't help but think that will was going to be one day too late to perform its purpose. The roads were not salted and in spots were sheer ice. No plows or salt trucks were to be found. 40 mph was taking your life into your own hands. I looked down at the speedometer; I was doing 50.
As I headed west into (finally!) thinning traffic, I pushed it a little. Pushing it is what I do. And it was just east of Fowlerville, my confidence hitting the ceiling that I was in the left lane and felt that "oh shit" feeling that you dread when you are driving.
It is almost like floating, but a lot more like being utterly, completely, totally without traction or control. It just so happened the road was curving to the right. I was in the left lane. Next to a pickup who was having the same problem. We were on sheer, unseen black ice - The dreaded scourge of winter climb highways and secondary roads. Black ice is spoken of by Midwesterners like sea monsters were spoken of by ole timey sailors. With awe, reverence, and unrelenting fear.
I resisted the urge to tap the brakes, instead allowing the car to bounce off the deep snow ruts on each side of the lane to try and slow myself down naturally. Each time, glancing off a little more aggressively, sure I was "going in". I picked my spot in case the pickup or I needed to give.
Thankfully, my 'oh shit' moment ended there and we all stayed on the road headed in the right direction, albeit at a much slower clip. It had already been along drive. I settled in, knowing it was going to be an epic drive.
I hadn't been this intimidated since 1992 when my friend Brian and I sojourned to the D for the car show. It was my first. A wonderful first auto show. The concept Viper, the Concept 1 (Beetle), and many other concepts. This was the era of irrational exuberance in the automotive industry. Nothing speaks to 17 year old boys like irrational exuberance.
The drive home that day way back when was under similar conditions. At the time, I drove a Mustang. Rear-wheel drive, bald tires, no ABS, traction control... no nothing. I was on my own. And I drove home sideways along 96, for literally 100 miles, chain smoking and I'm sure pretending I was having fun. That trip took something closer to five hours, having to go sideways two feet for every five feet forward I went.
There were a couple fun moments. Like while listening to the comedy channel on satellite radio and Bob Newhart's routine entitled "Ben Franklin in Analysis" came on. I didn't much care for the act... not one of Bob's best. But I laughed for the entire five minutes because my radio only displayed "Ben Franklin in Anal". I took a picture. I have proof.
And there was me voice texting Emily my progress. She was worried and I wanted to periodically make sure she knew I was alive. I dictated, "Being passed by semis is disconcerting", which somehow translated and sent as "Being passed by ceramides is disconcerting." Later, we learned ceramides are chains of lipids and hydrocarbons that form amino acids. I imagine it would be disconcerting to be passed by them as well.
Later, Em wrote and asked if I was still going really slow. I let her know I was "In a conga line of traffic. And I can't really have visitors right now. There's no lane." That, of course isn't what I said at all. I said, "I can't really pass right now..." When I expressed in longhand, or long voice as it were "what the f***, it kindly shortened it to WTF for me. Good to know my phone can whip out ceramides and WTF in the same night. That's well-rounded software.
Four hours, seven minutes home, averaging something like 36 miles-per-hour. Epic. Not fun, not cool, not exhilarating, just epic.
Emptying the car, I realized in my haste to get home to my wife, my cats, my bed, I left my bag in the conference room where my last appointment was, 4:07 and a million treacherous miles away. I was crestfallen. Beaten. Done.
And I laughed. Because if you're not laughing, you are crying. And when you cry, people don't much want to be around you.I had driven a long time under some pretty bad circumstances to be around people. I didn't want them to regret my effort.
I took two shots of tequila, hopped into bed with a car magazine and waited until my eyes got heavy enough to guarantee sleep. Tomorrow would mean that I would have to go back and retrieve my bag, feel stupid, waste gas, waste time and worst of all make that epic drive again.
But, that was for tomorrow. Right then, I needed to say goodbye to the epic day and get some much needed rest.
