Nor Rain, Nor Hail

Chris Rea's song series, The Road To Hell was playing in my tape deck as I sallied forth from work yesterday afternoon in a snowstorm. Blewett Pass was a relative cake walk, but things started getting dicey 10 miles east of Easton on I-90.

Only fools ventured forth in conditions like that, so there I was, creeping along at 35 to 40 mph. A few trucks barrelled past and I mulled over the wish to see them in a ditch further down the road, but I saw no accidents (or the messy aftermath) until hitting the south sound traffic jam. I pulled out my phone to notify Ginny, my hostess, that I was on her side of the mountains and just as I picked it up, she called me. I'm not a big cell phone user, but they're a godsend for keeping in touch on the road.

It took me more than an hour to go six miles; after Ft. Lewis, traffic started moving along again, and after a good 4 1/2 hours I drove into Ginny's driveway in Olympia.

It's sure not a drive I'd want to make in the dark, but it was such a relief to get out of that car at last. We walked down to a neighbourhood tavern for beer and tacos, and the walk (and food) revived me.

This morning we'll convene at Pacific Lutheran University, meet some spouses, and discuss social issues. More on that later.