Some hours later the sun is up. Things are bright but the light is diffuse and unfocused. It’s light without source or warmth. The wind’s fury has not abated, but rather increased. The sky is a swirling cacophony of ice crystals. Stare at it too long and you lose perspective. There is no depth or horizon.
Nothing living can be seen in any direction. Except snow laden and iced up trees. I’ve probably lost a few trees to this blizzard but they’re too far back in the woods to be visible.
Pondering the broken doorknob, I ask Mrs. Curmudgeon if she’d like to join me on a trip to town. She opines that only a madman would go out there today. Challenge accepted!
I dress like I’m going to run a trap line, give my diesel a huge amount of time to warm up, and bravely sally forth. I don’t technically need 4×4 to get out of the driveway but it’s not overkill. It’s the perfect amount of technology for conditions… on the driveway. On the dirt road beyond my land it gets much worse. I now I absolutely need 4×4. Unlike an SUV, I have a real 4×4. I switch into low range and give the transfer case plenty of time to engage.
Here’s something a lot of folks might not know, if your vehicle doesn’t have a low range, it’s more a grocery getter than heavy equipment… not that such a thing is bad. A good grocery getter is a great thing. But it’s not as tough as the advertisements would have you believe. In practical terms, most use of 4×4 low range in America is from jeepers having fun on a muddy trail; completely reasonable entertainment but not a practical thing. But for me, right now, low range is damn well appreciated.
The snow has drifted and it’s pretty deep. Some glorious patches of clear deeply frozen roadbed are scoured clear. These are interspersed with bumper deep drifts. Luckily, it’s so cold the snow is formless powder, dry as a bone, shifting and listless.
I methodically cross each drift in turn. Pause, assess the situation, aim carefully, think a minute, then punch the accelerator and cross the Rubicon without doubt or hesitation. This isn’t my first rodeo. The heavy truck blasts through admirably.
It’s fun! The cab heat is appreciated too. Compared to my house, the truck is toasty. I take off my fur hat and it’s a delicious luxury just to be “outdoors” without freezing.
Even though I’m having fun, I’m careful. A walk home in these conditions, even a very short one, isn’t tragic but it would be far too memorable for my tastes. Always be aware of the arena in which you play. This is God’s arena. It’s OK to have a little fun but never forget you’re meddling with dangerous forces. I’m just a smart monkey with an expensive vehicle. All that stands between me and a very hard day are the mechanics of a truck built by a company that needs a bailout every few decades and whatever traction the tires can muster.
Then again if I watch another second of TV, I’ll go mad.
Just as I need 4×4 to get down the road I need to spend a few hours out of the house!
After several dozen amusing and only moderately risky drift busts, I make it to the paved road. The paved road is clear. Not clear from plowing but scoured by the wind. It’s spotless almost at the molecular level.
All is not smooth sailing though. The wind is howling. Once again, my ridiculous, overpriced, high maintenance, over-engineered, behemoth earns its keep. It’s all well and good to joke about huge powerful trucks as “compensating for something”, but it’s a joke told by suburbanites who are not on this road, in these conditions, traveling as I am right now.
There’s not much traffic. A log truck here and there and that’s about it. The few personal vehicles out there are trucks like mine. Most of them sporting a snowplow such as I covet but cannot (or will not) afford.
The lack of vehicles isn’t due to the conditions on this road. It’s due to the heavy drifting on all the small feeder roads. For the next several miles, the traction is good and the visibility is decent. The crosswind is very strong but crosswind rarely bothers me. Duallies suck at traction but their squat wide stance makes them great against crosswinds. I sail through conditions that are beautiful and menacing, all while luxuriating in the dash heat; which far exceeds any heat in our firewood bereft house. I find myself humming. I’m warm, it’s peaceful to use a machine for what it was made. I don’t bother with the radio, it would just be shitty pop and shitter politics. Instead I watch the snow and listen to the engine’s counterpoint to the wind. I like to drive.
It’s almost too soon when I get to town. I liked that heated cab!
Stepping back into the maelstrom, the wind rips the truck door from my hands and I’m almost surprised it stays bolted on. Canted at an odd angle I waddle to the hardware store and buy a doorknob. Cheap at any price.
Then I trundle across town, pick the restaurant with the best heat and eat the longest breakfast possible. While braving the 50 paces back to my truck I covet Mrs. Curmudgeon’s vehicle’s remote start. This goes away when I’m back on the open road and the squat heavy truck shrugs off wind which is, if anything, even worse than before.