My first mistake on Friday night was deciding that the snow would probably let up soon. Looking out the office window at 3:00, I noticed it was snowing pretty energetically, but the words of the weatherman from NBC15 still lingered in my ears - "By midnight the snow should be completely gone." Perhaps not unreasonably, my brain interpreted this to mean that it would be completely melted; not, as I now assume it was meant, that the snow would have stopped falling. But either way, it shouldn't have led me to discount what my eyes were telling me: it was snowing. Now. Hard.
My second mistake was choosing to drive to Kenosha anyway. I'd been planning on going down for the weekend, in preparation for a Sunday in Chicago, and in all fairness I have driven in lots of snow/rain/hail before. I don't violently love it, but I don't get stressed out about it unless I have to get somewhere quickly. Even then, it's more of a nuisance than anything else.
When I merged onto the Beltline in Madison at a crawl, it became clear that this might have been a questionable decision. When I finally merged onto I-90 from the Beltline (ten miles away) more than an hour later, I knew it. But now I was committed. If I turned back to Madison - in addition to having wasted over two hours for absolutely no reason when all was said and done - it would be admitting failure!
After merging onto I-94 for the bulk of the trip, my hopes for a better road were dashed. This snow was no ordinary snow - it was coming down briskly, and it was wet. Extremely wet. It clung to everything, piled up quickly on the highway, and turned into a lovely sliding layer of mush that mostly obscured lane markings. Traffic moved cautiously along at a speed of about 30 mph, the majority of the cars switching from lane to lane as one or the other became increasingly snow-laden. If there were plows out, I didn't see them.
I'm not a white-knuckle driver, but I was paying close attention to my surroundings. After 20 miles or so I had already passed at least five cars in ditches or stranded askew on the shoulder of the road, hazard lights blinking forlornly through the snow. The occasional minute slide from side to side upon brake application in my own car sent tiny bolts of apprehension up through my stomach. I could see the same thing happening to cars ahead of me. It didn't inspire confidence, but there was really nothing to be done.
My ipod had been playing songs in order by title since I set out, starting with "Love Rescue Me." It was up to "Mean to Me" by Crowded House when I merged into the left lane, since some tire tracks were at least visible on that side. The cars were moving along at a pretty good clip at the time - a steady 30 or 35 mph. There was plenty of room between myself and the car ahead of me when it suddenly put on its brakes. I followed suit, and felt the back end of my car slide to the left.
To my credit, my brain immediately yelled "STEER INTO THE SLIDE!" But to be completely honest, I have no idea whether my body actually followed the instruction. In retrospect I think that it did, because a second later the back end of my car was sliding to the
right. And then more forcefully to the left. My increasingly panicked efforts were not helping the situation. I gave up, and waited to see what was going to happen.
As my car dreamily spun 180 degrees to face oncoming traffic, I remember the expression on my face, and the emotions that accompanied it. Wide-eyed surprise, tinged with both apprehension and curiosity. I wasn't actually ever afraid for my life or even my safety, and that probably was not completely irrational. My spin was uncontrolled, but seemed almost leisurely, and traffic was not exactly zooming along. People behind me were slowing down. I was simply wondering where I would land, and hoping very much that I would not hit a guard rail or have to call a tow truck. That would be not only a nuisance, but highly embarrassing.
As my spin slowed, I crossed into the right lane and came to a stop perpendicular to traffic, half in the lane and half on the shoulder of the road. 270 degrees later, I had come into contact with nothing but the snow under my wheels. The car behind me had stopped, waiting to see what would happen next. I sat there for a moment, eyes still wide, and then pulled cautiously back out onto the highway. I could hardly believe what had just happened, but I figured the odds were now pretty highly stacked in my favor against it happening
again. And I had ninety more miles to go.
Four hours later, through a snowfall that was almost comically heavy, I crawled onto Kenosha exit 344. I had lost count of the number of cars I'd passed on the side of the road. The entire city was white, and the trees looked especially beautiful - every branch etched in snow. Once I was within blocks of my final destination, I felt an odd desire to burst into hysterical tears at the release of five hours' worth of driving tension. I didn't, though. Instead I parked in my parents' garage, ate a late dinner, and certainly did not mention a word to my parents about my little spin around I-94. Which is the way it will stay.
Labels: winter
