2011.08.05 Text 16 notes

  1. A long drive, snowpiles, and Wild.

    People often misinterpret what the climate is like in Colorado. People sometimes assume the entire state is laden with mountains—these are same people who tend to think we’re constantly shoveling and wading through countless feet of snow to get to work or school. I find myself wishing I could see the faces of my family members on the East Coast when I tell them that it is colder there than it is here. This is not to say that the weather never gets the better of us, though.

    Sometimes, the snow and slush is out and ready to destroy whoever is dumb or unlucky enough to be outside, and this seems to go doubly if you are, in fact, in the mountains. I could go and get some statistics about these incidents, but that wouldn’t really help with what I’m trying to say. It’s hard to quantify human altruism.

    The drive from Hotchkiss, CO (as in, way out on the West side of the mountains) to Colorado Springs, or Boulder (the other side) is a pretty long one, about five hours on a nice enough day. My most recent trip back took an extra hour, because I was dumb and unlucky enough to be driving carefully in the black ice, but having my guard down a bit more when driving only through slush.

    Oh goodness, do not underestimate the slush.

    I underestimated the slush and my car and I slipped down into the snow on the side of the road. I also bent a road pole down right underneath one of my tires. If I successfully tried backing up, that tire would probably pop on the pole that pressed on the back of my tire. Trying to go forward would only get my further into the snow. I was stuck. My car was sitting at an awkward 40 degree angle and I had no cell phone reception.

    So I waited, standing outside hoping someone would help. First, two women going the way I was asked if I needed a ride into town. I declined the offer, but asked if they could call and get some help for me when they got there. A little later, the man in the street sweeper truck passed by and had a pleasant talk with me and would come back later to check on me when his route turned him around.

    As I waited for the help to come pull me out, nearly every car that went by stopped and asked me how I was, or whether I needed help, or if I needed anything. I told these people I had help on the way and that I appreciated the asking. My worry went away pretty quickly knowing so many people were willing to do what they could for me. I wrote a poem in my notebook to pass the time otherwise.

    Eventually, a man with an impressive beard and a plaid coat parked his Jeep across the road and made his way over to me. He too asked how I was doing, and if I needed help getting out. He could do it easy with his Jeep—he was equipped with a very big chain. His name was Wild, he told me, and he convinced me that he was the man for the job.

    Wild applied the chain the back of my car, I put my car into neutral. I sat patiently for a moment, and then the whole car and my little body whipped around before I could even prepare for it, and I was back on the road, pointed straight into the direction I needed to go.

    I shook Wild’s hand, thanked him profusely, and got back on my way, since we were blocking a couple of cars with our maneuver. The sun continued to melt the slush and snow and ice, and the rest of the trip was a breeze. By the time I got to Colorado Springs, I didn’t really care about the lost time, because it didn’t feel lost.

    I wish I was able to thank Wild one more time, and tell him how great his beard was.