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'Blizzard' catches Northerner unprepared
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Published: January 24, 2008
I grew up in Cleveland, where a light snowfall was six inches. I remember spending most of my childhood winters bundled up in snowsuits and big rubber boots with metal clasps that could really pinch your fingers, and slowly evolving from the mitten to the glove.
Like most non-native North Carolinians, I am amused and exasperated by the extreme reaction to even the threat of icy precipitation in our area of the Piedmont. Schools are closed on the simple rumor of snow, driving defensively becomes a way of life, and busy roads suddenly are deserted. People hibernate in a way that would disgrace a bear.
Those of us who have relocated snort at these goings-on with both disdain and knowledge of much worse weather that is possible, and in some areas of the country, frequent. I remember driving home from college -- from Boston to Cleveland via Buffalo, N.Y. -- and I never got through Buffalo without experiencing one major snowstorm or another. Cleveland seemed like Shangri-La compared to Buffalo; maybe the only time Cleveland emerged the winner in any civic comparison.
All this came to mind last week as we set off for our new cabin in southwestern Virginia for the three-day weekend. I wrote in a previous column of our decision to sell our cabin in Maine because the 16-hour drive defeated the idea of a restful vacation, and with gas prices being what they are, there is no such thing as an economical road trip.
I rather enjoyed listening to the reports of 24, 48 and even 64 inches of snow hitting New England in the last month or so, since they were no longer my problem, but someone else's. I treasure the generally mild and occasionally balmy winters we experience in the Triad, and those New England (and Ohio) blizzards are much more pleasant in memory than in reality.
So when my wife told me there were chances of some heavy snow in the Virginia mountains where we were headed, I pooh-poohed her. Nor did it matter that we would be driving a small rental truck filled with furniture to round out the decorating of our new cabin. After all, I can drive any vehicle in any weather, given my vast snow experience.
As we reached the Virginia border and began our climb into the mountains, I noticed more snow on the ground, but nothing was emerging from the sky. I smiled with satisfaction -- once more we had surmounted the Southeastern skittishness regarding the threat of that wet white stuff.
Everything went fine until we got to our cabin, which lies at the top of a steep hill from the county road. There is an alternate way to get to our cabin, using our neighbor's long, winding driveway to avoid the hill, and that's where I aimed the rental truck.
My confidence was short-lived. Halfway up the snow-and-ice-packed driveway, which suddenly had a lot more dips and rises than I remembered, the truck began to slide. My wife, following behind me in our car, jumped out to yell at me in alarm. It wasn't as if I didn't know I was in trouble. I couldn't get the truck to move forward or backward -- it had a mind of its own, and it was set on sideways.
My neighbor was burning some tree stumps and limbs, which ended up actually saving me. The front tire wedged against an old tree remnant, and that's where I stopped, literally perpendicular to the road. Without that stump, I probably would have flipped over into the adjoining gulley. I had visions of everything in the truck splintering and breaking, then the gas tank catching fire from the burning brush and the entire truck exploding. All I could think of was that $30 insurance policy I had declined on the rental.
But our neighbors knew a guy with a wrecker, and he came over and winched the front of the rental truck and straightened it out. Then we had to pickax the frozen earth to get enough dirt to spread out over the significant length of the driveway we had traveled, and very slowly and effectively, my wife backed that truck down the icy road to safety. (I am directionally challenged when backing up without a rear-view mirror, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. So there.)
The next time we get a forecast for snow in Winston-Salem, I'm going to make a supermarket run, stock up on enough food and wine for the entire winter, drive home at 15 mph, and hibernate. I've learned my lesson. Snow is snow, wherever it falls. Hello, Buffalo.
■ Dale Pollock, a former dean of the School of Filmmaking at the N.C. School of the Arts, teaches film there now.
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