Driving Me Crazy This Winter

I knew I was on a foreign planet when I walked into a Sears in Indiana and asked someone where the tire chains were kept.

Growing up in the Northwest, it was a habit to always have a set of chains in the trunk.

“Chains? For your tires? We don’t sell those,” the clerk said.

How about cables?

Nope.

Some snow falls in Fort Wayne, Ind., but nothing like what tends to fall on mountain communities. Whatever does fall is melted away with salt trucks.

Several generations of Hoosiers have lived through winters without once experiencing the thrill of putting chains on their cars. And when I lived in the flat lands of Indiana, I grew spoiled.

Instead of chains, I bought snow tires, which carried me safely to Spokane last year.

Once spring hit in the Inland Northwest, my tires were stored in the corner of my garage. Unfortunately, that’s where they still sit today.

I seem to have brought back a flat-lander’s lackadaisical sensibility toward winter snow.

But I got my wakeup call last week to finally get my heavy treads mounted.

While driving to work, I expected to make a sharp corner near the Browne’s Addition Rosauers. Instead, I turned the wheel and started yelling as I headed straight for the curb. No traction, no turn. Luckily, I just missed the curb, which was almost like finding $750 in the street.

Anyone who has lived in the Inland Northwest knows the thrill of driving on roads better suited for ice skates.

I really should know better. I grew up driving slippery roads on the Palouse.

I learned that when the first snow falls, cars will sometimes slide through intersections sideways. I’ve also learned that driving through a snow-covered mall parking lot doesn’t mean the concrete parking blocks have suddenly disappeared.

My first car wreck, and first big winter-driving lesson, took place between Spokane and Spangle on U.S. Highway 195. I was 15, and eager to get home to Clarkston, Wash., after a long holiday shopping trip in Spokane with my mother.

I had great faith in our little white Toyota. Its thin tires plowed through snow and slush around Lewiston, Clarkston, Moscow, Pullman and Spokane.

So when my mom said I might be driving too fast, I brushed her off. The sun was just setting.

I took advantage of the two lanes to pass the slower cars doing 50 mph. I was making good time.

And as quick as that, the car’s tires hit a patch of ice and turned 45 degrees to the right.

I froze. Did the driver’s education instructor say turn into a slide or turn away? To turn into the slide meant cranking the wheel toward the oncoming cars.

As I eased the wheel toward the lines of approaching headlights, my mother reached over and grabbed the wheel, hard. It sent us sideways to the right. Both my hands were on the wheel as I craned my neck left to look down the road where we headed.

I thought that was the end. I saw a guardrail up ahead. And I knew a big drop was below.

Our bumper smacked the guardrail square, and the car spun around until we rested in a snowbank.

In the daze afterward, I looked around. All the windows were intact. No bones were broken, and the car had no major damage.

My glasses had been knocked off. I put them on and looked over at my mother. She looked like she was saying gee whiz with a hand on her forehead.

She turned to me and said, “How does this look?”

Not wearing a seat belt during the impact, her head snapped forward and hit the sharp corner of my book on the dashboard.

A dollop of blood spurted out and down her face. We were about 70 miles from Lewiston.

I told her we would go back to Spokane. She held an old scarf to her head and said no, “Let’s go home.”

I had to brush off my jitters and my shakes and get our Toyota back on the road.

“You can go a little faster,” she said a few times.

I crept along the roads. Each time we spun out a little, my stomach would drop and I’d grip the wheel tighter. We made it back fine.

I sat in the emergency room as the doctor put seven stitches in her head. We were lucky.

Now every time the family gets together during the holidays and someone brings up icy roads, I wait for her to lift the bangs on her forehead.

“Remember when I got this?”