That image may haunt me for years: in my rear view mirror, Srini’s car skidding across the highway, towards the ravine. The silence, the speed, the helplessness of the situation was the stuff of movies I avoid, yet this one has been on constant reruns in my head since it happened 22 hours ago. My screams filled my MDX as I watched his RAV4 glide smoothly towards the edge. The glide must have lasted 4 seconds, but the moment played out in slow motion. I feared the worst – that his car would pick up enough momentum to go over the meager dirt and snow embankment and into the ravine. It didn’t. The dirt gave his car just enough traction to make it stop. It was yet another moment of sheer, unadulterated luck – a moment like a dozen others that day, that conspired to saved us from tragedy.
We had gone up to Kirkwood to spend the weekend making some last fixes to the ski cabin we had just bought. Mom and Dad came with us – it was a rare winter vacation where we would spend the time in the house with them, instead of on the slopes. The weather service was predicting snow to start Sunday evening, and really blanket the area on Monday. But even on Saturday afternoon, for about two hours, a fine dusting of snow gave us a preview. The locals seemed unfazed, calming my generally jumpy nerves. I praised myself for keeping my anxiety in check.
Sunday morning, snowfall had still not begun. But when I went out to take out the trash, I saw the wind whipping yesterday’s snow across the roads. A two-foot wide strip of ice had settled into a dip running the length of the driveway. Now, there was no holding back my fears, and I convinced Srini to bolt out of there. We loaded up the cars – he took Maya, Anjali, and Mom in the RAV4; I had Aanika and Dad in the MDX. We headed out at 1:20 p.m. onto highway 88, heading East towards Jackson.
This is where we let our confidence in technology, weather reports, and I might say our own (surprisingly) youthful cockiness blur our vision. “Chains required on all vehicles except four-wheel drive vehicles with snow tires,” the signs warned, even within a few miles of starting. The weather is not really supposed to hit until later that night, we thought, and we have two four-wheel drive vehicles. We didn’t have snow tires, but did have all-weather tires, surely that ought to be the same. Underlying our snubbing of all cautionary warnings from within us and without was an assumption that these warnings tend to err towards being hyper-cautious.
For the first fifteen minutes, we were met with only flurries and a bit of accumulation. I was glad we had left before things got bad. Soon, though, the snow got heavier – falling from above, blowing from the sides, and collecting on the road. The visibility was strained, but guided by the tall poles on the sides of the road, and keeping well below 25 mph, we trudged forward. A friend at Kirkwood had tipped me on snow driving: go really, really slow, she had said, and don’t use your brakes. What? Don’t use your brakes? Yes, just keep downshifting. Drive at D1 or D2. Srini had told me, no sudden movements – no sudden steering, no sudden acceleration or braking. I began practicing those lessons.
Our drive began to get a little precarious, with an occasional fraction-of-a-second skid, but minding the tips, and waiting anxiously for the 5000-foot elevation line, at which point we were sure the roads would be clear, we continued. It only got worse. The tires started slipping at every touch of the brakes. It happened so consistently and so predictably in fact, that soon, it actually became quite easy to stay off the brakes. The lowest gear kept the speed below 10 mph, and the occasional skid raised my heart rate, but not enough to incapacitate me. The roads were slippery, but enough traction must have remained that our cars controlled themselves after a few feet.
Within 45 minutes, it became clear that we were committed to doing this nearly-exclusively downhill drive on densely packed snow and ice. Afraid of going faster than I could manage following Srini, I had decided to lead, to set the pace. As I approached a narrow part of the road – it might have been a bridge – a pickup truck pulling a small U-Haul trailer in front of me skid left, going head-on into the left-hand barrier, completely blocking the oncoming direction. My car was skidding beyond my control, and I could only pray that it would slide past that trailer. I missed it by about 4 inches. Srini, skidding several yards behind me, managed to do the same.
Another 15 minutes into the drive, soon after the 5000 foot elevation sign, as we approached a small uphill section, a long caravan of cars had pulled over to the right. Carefree teenagers were loitering around in the middle of road, some taking pictures, some burly types wearing only t-shirts and jeans, a few gliding around in their sneakers, maximizing the thrill of nature’s ice-rink. A U-Haul truck had skid into a ditch just beyond the hill, we heard through the fresh grapevine. Settle in, it’ll be a while.
About 20 minutes later, the caravan started inching forward. A cantankerous tow-truck driver had taken it upon himself to help guide one car at a time through a particularly treacherous portion, where the road narrowed and curved, still on a downhill, all while completely iced over. Don’t hit the brakes he said, as I waited my turn at the top of the hill. Don’t hit the brakes. But the second I lifted my foot off the brakes to start moving, my car started slipping around. The road dipped down in front of me, and in my panic, I hit the brakes. I skidded around a bit, came to a drunken stop at the left bank, looked in the rear view mirror, and saw Srini gliding down and across the highway.
When my screaming stopped, the tow-truck driver came up to me, thrust his finger in disgust and hollered, “Because of you, that guy hit the brakes and skid. What’d I tell you do? Don’t hit the fucking brakes!” Stopping there was not an option. I had to move. Again, I lifted my foot off the break, and my car skid. Again, panic. Again, brake. This time, I skid in that same trajectory, Srini and the driver running to block the MDX from going beyond the embankment. I could see a flimsy barbed wire fence a few feet below in the ravine. That probably wouldn’t hold a bike. The trees were a small reassurance. After about 3 seconds that still continue, the MDX came to a stop at the right embankment, just as Srini’s had. Yet I continued to scream.
Fear paralyzed me. Srini had reassured me several times that I had been doing a good job. Now, though, I could not get myself to drive – or breath evenly. The tow-truck driver refused to drive my car for even a few yards out of the curve. He could lose his job. Get fined hundreds of dollars. But keep moving he said. But I can’t I cried. You must. Srini put an end to the discussion. He got in the MDX, and drove off two hundred yards. Then he jogged back to get the RAV4 out. As he drove the RAV4 through the curvy, slip-slidy mess, I couldn’t even get myself to sit in the car. I jogged up to meet him.
We survived the remaining 40 miles of snowy, icy roads with caution and Mom and Dad’s prayers. Every time on coming cars approached us, we could only hope that whatever skid happened would happen in the fortunate direction, instead of disastrous one.
A lot of lessons hit us in the head yesterday. They are embarrassingly elementary: Take a real assessment of the roads. Take chains. All-weather tires are not snow tires. Don’t assume the weather follows predictions. Look with open mind and eyes – not presumptions.
And don’t be skittish about loving your family with abandon.
