Thursday, January 14, 2010

The Courage to Cruise

What a wuss I am! There are people who live and work in places that have several feet of snow and ice to get through all winter, and I’m scared to drive down my street. What’s the worst that can happen? We don’t even live on the side of a cliff or the top of a mountain. It’s hard to fall far when you live in a holler. So what if I go into a slide?

My van is over ten years old with over two hundred thousand miles on the odometer. It has a dent on the driver’s side front quarter panel from a hit-‘n’-git driver in Sav-a-Lot parking area. The driver’s door bottom trim sports a big boo-boo from a propane tank bouncing along the interstate highway and stopping on me. I wear a seatbelt and have airbags, so how much harm can befall me?

We’ve got a long way to go to melt the snow with Adam’s latest weather report of 14.4 degrees. We won’t starve, no matter how frozen the holler gets, as our three freezers and two refrigerators are always stuffed to frozen food avalanche capacity. We keep a full pantry, and even have food stored under our bed.

The weather reports say that by Saturday we’ll be warm, but there are some things that just can’t wait that long. We’re down to a partial roll of toilet paper, so I’ve gotta work up the courage to cruise down to some store.

The problem for me is that when I’m scared of doing something, I shut my eyes, and hold my breath, and go really, really fast. This is not a good plan for ice driving. I know there’s a Ford commercial where a blind man drives a car, but I think it’s generally best to see where one is going, especially on ice-slicked mountain roads.

Richard grew up in Massachusetts, delivering baby chicks in all manner of weather. Ice driving doesn’t faze him, except for his worry that someone not as cautious as he is will be coming from the opposite direction on the road. If he feels up to it today, maybe I’ll ask him to go on the provision run. I’d want him to take the van because it has a lower center of gravity than his Bronco II, and he’d mourn the loss of his trusty twenty-year-old steed if anything happened to his ride. But then, I’d worry until he got home because I’m also afraid of being home alone after dark. Sometimes I wonder how I ever ended up in the woods.

My mantra for today will be, “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can,” like The Little Engine That Could. Oh, heck, maybe we’ll just ride to town together, visiting a few friends on the way…