Lynn's Snow-capades: Snowmageddon 2023, the Finale (Part 2 of 2)

Picking up where we left off last week.

At this point (nearly a month into my adventure), there was only one Snowmageddon issue remaining that was significantly impairing my return to a somewhat uncomplicated and carefree existence. And that was: being freed from my personal snow prison.

The day after the restoration of my water, and after just barely receiving enough snow melt to attempt some experimental cowboy trail-breaking maneuvers, it was finally time to bring in the big boy Tonka truck. (Told you I’d eventually get to this part in the story.)

A few weeks prior, a wonderful young man named A.J. had offered to try to break trail for me with his amazing monster truck. Monster truck with monster tires and a monster lift. He would come to my driveway fully chained up and primed for the mission at hand. We had agreed to wait for more snow to melt before attempting such a crazy and dangerous ascent. And now that day had finally arrived!

The first thing we did was set in place a sort of Morse code honking plan -just in case anything was to go awry. One honk if all was good, two honks if he couldn’t punch through and had to turn around and head back home, or continuous honking if he was either stuck or sliding off a cliff somewhere.

It might sound like an exaggeration, but fishtailing, slip-sliding, and downright backward gliding are common occurrences on the steep slopes of my driveway when it is covered in snow. As it was, halfway up the easier part of the driveway, A.J. did get stuck and had to tie onto a tree to winch himself out of the ditch. In these parts, real mountain folk have winches. Not to be confused, of course, with ‘wenches’ (look it up.)

I don’t know if he honked or not, but I heard a great deal of commotion coming from down below, so I quickly trekked myself down the hill to see what I could see. And to my utter delight, I saw that big ol’ truck of his slowly making its way up the drive. I could just barely see through the fogged-up glass when I noticed A.J. had brought along his girlfriend, Mindy, too - which made me smile with delight. Adventure-seeking, good Samaritans, those two!

Their trail-breaking methods were a wondrous sight to behold. Slowly but surely, they inched their way up the drive, like a wood chipper shredding a continuous spray of snow chips as they plowed their tracks up to my home. After successfully arriving at the house, they then hand-shoveled the large berm from in front of my truck so it, too, could be busted out of its carport snow prison.

And yet, after all the hard work and kindness they bestowed upon me, they refused to take my money. Their reasoning: ‘They like helping people.’ This humbled me to tears.

Before they left, we all agreed that even though it was tempting, I should not try to break out with my baby Tonka Toyota yet. Even though the plan was to change up their tracks on the way back down the hill to compensate for their wheelbase being far wider than mine, the snow was simply too deep and too slushy for my little red 4x4 steed to attempt the descent at that time.

Yes, I was a bit disappointed. Because I was so, so close to breaking free. But I had also waited patiently for such a very long time already. Surely, I could wait one more day, couldn’t I? I could muster my patience and restraint to sit out one more day of snowbound tedium while waiting for more snow to melt.

Hopeful for a brighter day to come and only slightly deflated it wouldn’t be this day, I shuffled my way back into the house and resumed my reclusive existence. Rather than dwelling on still being snowbound, though, I instead focused my energies on gratitude, and on the reality of being one (giant) step closer to emancipation due to the generosity of 2 very kind souls.

By the following afternoon, I was happy I had waited. A great deal of snow had melted in the newly graded tracks -which meant it was finally the day to bust out and drive down to Kathy’s house. We had plans for grocery shopping, dinner, and a night out on the town, but it was her long overdue hug I was most looking forward to.

After all those long days waiting, I was finally able to climb into my truck and actually drive somewhere! I started the engine, shifted down to my lowest 4x4 granny gear, and slowly and carefully chugged my way down the mountain. It was a fairly uneventful descent –with the exception of the notorious switchback corner that is predictably buried in the deepest snow. The truck high centered a few times, but because I was going downhill, I was able to correct the slippage and sliding and quickly regain control.

Being out in the world and re-united with my Kathy was a long overdue delight. By the time I returned by the darkness of night, however (with a truck now packed full of groceries and supplies) the terrain and traction on my driveway had changed significantly. As expected, it was particularly nasty on the switchback corner...so I decided to approach it slowly. Like A.J. had. Slowly shredding my way up the hill.

But that was my first mistake. Within seconds of my approach, I got stuck. And that’s ‘stuck’ on the side of an extremely steep hill with no traction forward and only a slip-sliding action backward when in reverse. Using a few tricks of the trade, I managed to rock my truck back and forth enough times to free it so I could try again. Again and again and again, to be exact. Every time I’d hit the steepest part of the corner, my wheels would spin out, and I would dig myself deeper and deeper into the slush pile of snow.

After nearly frying my Tranny, I realized I was never going to make that corner from my current position. So, I tried a different approach. I decided to follow A.J.’s first tracks (which originally went past the corner –check out the photo) and attempt to back my truck all the way back up to the house from there. Not the best plan, but I wasn’t about to abandon a truck full of tempting food supplies in the middle of bear country. Running through the different options, I realized if I couldn’t get up the driveway, I’d likely be in for a very long and chilly night making countless trips up and down the hill to unload all of my supplies. It was at least worth trying this new plan B backing-up option.

So…with the same rocking tricks, I again freed myself just enough to make a running start to get myself up and onto the straighter and more level tracks beyond the corner. From there, the plan was to back straight up the hill. However, once I successfully got myself landed in those upper tracks and began backing up, the minute I hit the corner, gravity and the lower tracks rapidly pulled me back down the hill.

Backward. Down the hill. In the dark!

And the more I tried to maneuver out of the lower tracks, the more I got sucked further down the mountain and way, way too close to the cliff. Sliding uncontrollably backward down a snowdrift in a low-visibility truck at night is not an activity I would recommend to anyone. Not even an adrenalin junkie (of which I am not).

Suffice it to say; it was not looking good. At this point, I wasn’t on either road -upper or lower driveway- but somewhere in between, slowly sliding backward, with the gravity pull of the steep incline stealing away the last of my steering control.

I’m not sure how, but somehow I was able to lock the wheels and stop the sliding effect -which at least allowed me to come to a complete stop. Still on a steep hill. In the middle of a snowdrift. In the dark of night. But at least not sliding backward anymore. Thankful for the small triumphs in life.

Once I realized I had stopped the carnival slide-ride, I just sat there for a while, leaning over the steering wheel in an exasperated state of defeat. Then I had a talk. To myself, but also to anyone that happened to be listening in.

First, I acknowledged my appreciation for the heat in my car -in an otherwise freezing situation. Then, I thanked the powers that be for keeping me safe and protected so far.

After that, I assessed my alternatives: 1.) Abandon my truck in the snowbank, hike up to the house, get my backpack and snow boots, and make countless trips up and down my driveway until all tasty perishable temptations were removed from my truck. 2.) Abandon my truck and just take one hike up my drive and go to bed –hoping and praying that nary a critter would catch whiff of the tasty food stash bounty that lay waiting their opportunistic appetites. 3.) Make one last attempt to un-stick the truck so it could be maneuvered in such a way as to gain some traction.

Oh yeah…and ask Dad for some help.

Number 3 won! Shortly after asking Dad for help, I rocked the truck back and forth a couple of times, slammed on the accelerator, and instantly shot up and out of the snowbank like a rocket ship blasting off from Earth. Even more remarkable: As I was shooting through the air, somehow my truck did this incredible 180 skid, which landed me pointing downward on the main drive in the position I had, ironically, wanted to be in after getting stuck the first time. (Just to be clear, turning the truck around to go back down the hill was a near-impossible feat, especially given the depth of snow and the angles of the driveway.) But…I guess not so impossible when one has Dad and the Angel brigade at hand?

So, with great relief, I drove to the bottom of the drive. The bottom, where there is a clear path back to Kathy’s house. Or…the bottom, where there is also the option to turn around and gun it back up the drive. But this time…in full cowboy mode with accelerator jammed to the floor!

Hmm…tough call. Safe bet is to head back to Kathy’s. But then I’d still have to unload everything into her house and dig out ice chests from the shed while navigating her monstrous snow-blockade berms by headlamp.

And…I didn’t have my pillow with me.

Yep, that cinched it. No pillow, no go. I was going to hit that driveway like a ‘no holds bar, bat-outta-hell,’ mad woman. Me and my Cherry-red Toyota steed were gonna conquer this mountain. We were going home. We were going to return to our barns and tuck in for the night. In our own beds. With my own perfect pillow.

Even though I was going a bit rogue with my decision, I still put out one last message to Dad and the Angel band. “Join me for a wild ride? And if you wouldn’t mind working a little magic, too…that would be greatly appreciated.”

After 30 years of navigating this driveway in the snow, I’ve come to know some of the tricks and sweet spots of where to gain momentum. And one of those places is the relatively flat and long straight stretch right below the corner from hell. This is the place to gather rocket speed and momentum great enough to conquer the corner. That is not what I did the first time around. And that is most likely what got me into such a mess.

But when making a second pass at it, I didn’t hold back. Pedal to the metal, I punched it! I sped up that driveway so fast that by the time I hit the corner, I just sailed up and over the top of the ridge. As if choreographed, I landed the approach with a graceful fishtail glide right into position on the upper road, facing forward, poised to drive the rest of the road back up the hill and right to the front door of my house.

When I pulled up to the house, I stopped, had a hearty adrenalin laugh, petted my faithful steed on the dashboard, and thanked all beings who had been involved in the successful completion and closing of the final chapter of my Snowmageddon adventure.

I survived 11 days of no electricity. Over 3 weeks without running water. Nearly a month of being snowed in. And I was finally freed to go out into the world and resume social interaction with my fellow humans.

The moral of this epic saga? Angels high, Angels low. Angels here, there, and everywhere! Their presence is experienced as long as I remain open to ask and receive…and always give back with kindness and a ‘pay it forward’ mind set. Oh yeah…and gratitude. To always remain grateful…no matter what life’s circumstances appear to be in any given moment.

Epilogue: In the month following my release and return back to life in a quasi-state of normalcy, I can’t help but notice a heightened sense of awareness and appreciation I now have regarding the simplest of things: The turning on of every light switch, appliance, and faucet. A soothing bath. The warmth of an electric heater. The convenience of a microwave. The easy accessibility of entertainment via the click of a simple TV remote. Driving in a vehicle. Taking a stroll. And perhaps best of all: hugging my friends.

And I’ll often find myself singing (out loud, of course) Joni’s famous song, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.” (Look it up.)

About the author and column: The Mountain Messenger is pleased our local singer/songwriter Lynn Zanetta is sharing from her journal about the snow storms of 2023. We have made every effort to maintain the integrity of the journal entries with few edits to preserve her voice and spirit.