This Side Up

Weather tantrums make for great memories

Posted 1/6/15

“What do you think?” Carol asked apprehensively from the back seat.

I knew she had felt it as well as the rest of my passengers. The car was sliding, nothing as bad as fishtailing, but every …

This item is available in full to subscribers.

Please log in to continue

E-mail
Password
Log in
This Side Up

Weather tantrums make for great memories

Posted

“What do you think?” Carol asked apprehensively from the back seat.

I knew she had felt it as well as the rest of my passengers. The car was sliding, nothing as bad as fishtailing, but every so often the back would shift and then we would rock back into the mushy lanes that shone like black dashes in the headlights.

It started as snow Saturday afternoon and by 4:30 it changed to sleet. It was doing just what the forecasters said would happen, but it was the words of the cashier at the rest stop on the Mass Pike that resounded.

“There’s going to be a weather tantrum tomorrow,” she announced, almost gleefully to the cue of travelers waiting to pay for hands full of granola bars, jerky and bottled water.

The solemn, silent assembly dug into their pockets and wallets for change, as if saving three or four seconds at the checkout would get them that much closer to their destination before Mother Nature delivered her blow. No one said anything, except Carol.

“What’s going to happen?”

The cashier was thrilled to have finally been acknowledged. She had everyone’s attention. She was in the spotlight.

Her grim report was enough to terrify the most seasoned truck driver, least us highway amateurs. There was going to be snow and wind and then the temperatures would climb and there would be ice, lots of ice, and finally rain that would transform everything into a slippery, sloppy soup.

I suspected Carol, if not others in line, was wondering if we should turn around immediately and head back to where we came from.

How bad could it be? Besides, these highway crews are prepared for this sort of weather. They know what they’re doing. More importantly, Marge was expecting us for dinner at her home in Springfield Center in upstate New York. We planned to celebrate a late Christmas and take her, and Bill and Samantha, who have become friends, out to dinner on Saturday at the Otesaga Hotel in Cooperstown. Our timing, however, put us right in the thick of the tantrum.

We decided it made sense to all travel in one car, and my Subaru was the choice.

Sleet ticked on the windshield. Carol, Marge and Samantha squeezed into the back seat and we set off for the 10-mile ride to Cooperstown. The two-lane road offers scenic views of Lake Otsego. It’s usually filled with local traffic mixed with SUVs packed with kids headed for the Baseball Hall of Fame.

On Saturday night it was empty, although, from the tracks, someone was out there. It hadn’t been a plow or a sander. Slush and ice banged against the underside of the car.

Carol’s question, “What do you think?” hung in the air.

Bill spoke up. “I’ve seen worse.” And then after a pause, “A little further and we’ll be halfway there.”

“Just got new tires,” I added.

For the trip, I had Harvey Davies change the oil.

“I wouldn’t go too much farther on those,” he said of the tires. “The cord is starting to show.”

I didn’t delay and stopped at Sullivan Tire. Bart Angelo was on it, after chatting about what’s happening in Warwick and, in particular, for the Elizabeth Mill up the street. He said to come in Friday morning and he’d have them in time for the trip.

So the tires couldn’t be much newer.

“This is all-wheel drive?” Bill queried.

I assured him it is. The car continued to wiggle, but that wasn’t going to stop us. We crept along at 25 miles per hour. Two or three cars, moving cautiously, came from the opposite direction and dimmed their lights as we glided by each other. Finally there were signs of habitation ahead: a glowing street light and houses with Christmas decorations. The Otesaga Hotel was lit up in all her grandeur but, with the exception of a single car, the parking lot was empty. I wondered if they had closed, even though Carol made reservations.

The doors were open, but the hallway, which usually offered signs of hotel guests and personnel, was vacant. At the Hawkeye Bar, we found a maitre d’ and Carol declared we had reservations.

“You must be Howell,” he said. “Come this way.”

He took us through the bar and directed us to the dining room. We didn’t see a soul.

“How did you know it was us?” I asked, facetiously.

“Oh, there were five of you,” he answered.

He showed us to a table, apparently reserved just for us, although we could have picked any one of them. In a distant corner, a pair of adults sat with two kids. That was it.

It was a perfect evening. Good company, good food, good service and, somehow, braving the “weather tantrum” into town and knowing we would be heading back made for a shared sense of adventure we wouldn’t forget.

Comments

1 comment on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here

  • mthompsondc

    Delightful.

    Saturday, January 10, 2015 Report this