I-65 Rest Stop

Last Thursday I was headed to Huntsville from Oneonta, a drive of sixty or so miles that should take a little over an hour.  I had heard the weather folks saying that snow would be coming. I heard the same weather folks saying that there would be no travel issues at all because temperatures would be too warm for the falling snow to affect roadways.  So, being the weather expert that I am I figured that trying to get through the snow band in the warmer middle of the day would be better than waiting until later in the evening after sunset, when the air would get colder and any water on the road might freeze. I also thought that I-65 would be better than lesser traveled highways, or highways that moved through higher elevations.

I was wrong.  And so were the weather folk.

It was snowing hard but traffic was moving along in fine fashion on I-65 north around 2:00 in the afternoon.  I passed the last exit for Cullman, traffic still moving along famously.  I made the right decision, I thought.  Then I saw the brake lights ahead of me.   .  . as far as I could see.  And none of them were moving.

And that's the way it was for the next fourteen hours. Until some of the lights went out for lack of fuel or electricity or sliding into a ditch.   I was able to move around 4:00 a.m. Friday morning.

It was no big deal.  The Prius is a great car to get stranded in.  With my full tank of gas I  probably could have sat there with the heat running for two or three days before I ran out.  I found a half a box of chocolate covered Christmas pretzels under the seat, so I wasn't going to starve.  In fact I had a couple of boxes of girl scout cookies in the back seat that I had forgotten about and never opened.

I had no water.  That was a good thing for the first ten hours or so.  Being dehydrated, I didn't have to worry about where I was going to go to the bathroom.  Of course, there wasn't a bathroom. But I saw a few people head toward the tree line and back.  I assume they had not had the foresight to become dehydrated.

But, after awhile, dehydration didn't feel too good.  So, being the good Boy Scout that I am, I looked around me.  There was snow and ice everywhere.  (actually a good Boy Scout would carry a couple of bottles of water in his car always, so I'll have to take a refresher course later)  But that which was immediately accessible was muddy and oily and nasty.  And slippery, as it turned out, when I stepped out of my car to further my plan.  But I was thirsty.  I looked to the tree line.

Hmmm.  It was going to be important to find the kitchen portion of the tree line as opposed to the bathroom area.  So I set out, slipping and sliding across the icy ruts of the emergency lane before reaching the crunchy  undisturbed snow off the right of way.  I wasn't thirsty enough to risk gathering snow that might have been made yellow by other travellers, something I couldn't detect in the dark.  But I ran into a limb of a bush, about head level, that was bent down with the weight of snow . . . fresh clean snow.  I made a quick determination that it was unlikely that anyone could have hit the height of the branch with  . . . .well, you know.    I made a couple of snow balls from the limb's generous offering, walked back to the car, and sucked on the unflavored all natural snow cone.

And so I survived the boredom of fourteen hours in the car.  I wish I had a more exciting tale to tale, but it was just the opposite.  The only real danger I faced was being bored to death..

It was a treacherous ride at 4:00 a.m. on I-65 North creeping down Mt. Lacon.  Apparently that incline was the problem.  Cars and trucks were stranded on both sides of the slope as I moved down at glacier like speed.  And then suddenly, everything was clear, and I moved on.

I learned a few things from this unexpected winter retreat.  .In Alabama we do not know how to handle even a little snow and ice.  I learned that local news outlets, radio, TV and Internet, sometimes miss reporting important real time events.  I still do not know what really caused that delay of 14 hours.  Me and a couple of thousand of my traveling companions really wanted and needed to know, but it just never happened.   I saw close up that eighteen wheelers do not do well on packed snow and ice. And I was affirmed in my belief that cleaning out your car on a regular basis is over-rated.  I learned practical things like that.  The first two made me a little angry after a while.

I have traveled that part of  I-65 over a hundred times I suppose.  I never noticed Mt. Lacon, except for the exit sign. But now I have, because I had to. Because it stopped me.

And that's the way it is, unfortunately. .

What else have I failed to see as I speed through my life, with nothing to stop me?

 I haven't been laid off from my job, so maybe I haven't noticed the hardship of the unemployment line.  I haven't been homeless, so maybe I have been oblivious to those stuck in place as I pass by except for the signs they hold on interstate exits. . I haven't suffered serious illness, so maybe I have avoided the pain and isolation of others. I haven't fought in wars for my country, so maybe I haven't taken time to know enough about it and fight for those who have. And so on .  .  .

I haven't tried to find out what happened to these folks and all the others who are fighting uphill battles and told their stories loudly and clearly when they could not.  I haven't tried to find ways to help them find their footing on their slippery slopes. I haven't helped them find a clear safe path.

I haven't had time to stop and see for myself.

Fourteen hours is a long time, but really, it's nothing.

Except an excellent time to stop . . . and think.

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