We pulled out of our driveway at 7:30 this morning and headed south. The scene was bleak, with icy roads, dark skies, and that awful mixture of rain and snow that promises white-knuckle driving.
“It will get better as we hit Indianapolis,” I said. “It’s almost two hundred miles due south.” “It should get better by the time we hit the Indiana state line,” Earl countered while I thought a mere twenty-five miles down the road was a bit optimistic.
The outdoor temperature, according to our car, was eighteen degrees. For the next few hours we watched it rise slowly with the interest we usually give the stock market. It was as erratic too.
Both Earl’s and my estimates of when we would out-drive the snow were grossly underrated. It followed us through Indiana into Kentucky and then Tennessee. When we pulled off the road for the night, the thermometer had hit forty-eight, but as the sun set it began a disheartening descent. This isn’t what we’d planned for. Except when we contacted someone back home, we learned southwestern Michigan was bracing for single digit temperatures and more heavy snow.
I think we left just in time.
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