Ice

My dear truck is currently stuck on the ice in front of my house.  We had a winter storm over the weekend consisting of the star combination that is sleet and snow, and when I crept out yesterday morning seeking a ride to campus, I realized that the tires were frozen to the street with a thick coating of ice.

Fine, fine, I can walk to campus today, I said to myself.  I’d be worried about driving when the roads are so slick anyway.

This morning, however, I walked from the house with more resolve.  I had purposely gotten up early and forgone shower and morning BBC reading in order to free my truck from its glassy chains.

First, I tried simply chipping away at the tires with shovel, foot, and window scraper.  I got most of it off, but when I tried to drive forward, I could feel the tires spinning on the ice beneath them.

Not discouraged, I went back in the house for the bag of salt we keep by the front door,  I poured it on the ice in front of each tire, then tried to drive again.  Still nothing.  The truck, I realized, is not only stuck on the ice, but the ice beneath it had frozen into grooves in which each tire is nestled.

So, I called my Dad.  He directed me to the four sandbags in the bed of the truck.  I thought they were there simply to add weight to the bed to prevent fishtailing on slippery winter roads, but actually, they’re partially for traction-requiring times like these.  Use your keys to rip open one of the bags, Dad said.  Then spread it under each tire, let off the brakes, and let the car roll on its own.  The key trick worked perfectly, not to mention made me feel pretty darn handy.  But then there was the issue of breaking up the frozen sand, and scooping it out with the cumbersome shovel, and managing not to spill any while climbing down from the bed.  And I had to go to work.

So I abandoned the project and walked the treacherous sidewalks all the way to campus.

Tomorrow, however, I’ll be back with reinforcements.

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