Travelling on deserted roads was blissful. No honking. No worrying about what the other drivers were going to do next. There wasn’t a Sunday driver in sight. And no crazy speed demons. In fact, on my ten-mile trek I doubt if I saw more than three other cars.
Normally the route I take to work, back and forth, would be jammed with cars. Frustrating and nerve wracking. But for three days, almost everyone was off the roads, holed up at home. This was the great blizzard and ice storm.
Keep in mind that I live in Georgia so what we call a great blizzard probably amounted to three or four inches of snow. I grew up in Pennsylvania so driving in that was no problem for me. What made it bad was the ice. Under the snow, and later on top of it as it began to fall as sleet, was a half-inch of ice.
Unless you drive a vehicle with tank treads, or snow chains, there is no way to drive on ice without some slipping and sliding. And yes, as always in this kind of weather, I saw cars on the side of the road or in the ditch beside it.
A couple of weeks ago Atlanta was in the news as a laughing stock. Total gridlock, chaos and massive misery caused by a little ice and snow. No one bothered to prep the roads, or send people home knowing that driving would be terrible. How big a mess it turned out to be was all over the news. People stuck in their cars for days, sleeping the aisles of the grocery stores.
So, with a second chance to get it right, everyone closed and went home before the snow or ice even started coming down. A good thing.
People like me had to go to work, driving in the snow, regardless of the weather. I’m in healthcare. When I’m not blogging or antiquing that is. We go to work to care for patients.
It wasn’t a big storm compared to what others have, but for us, here in Georgia, it was a storm for the ages. I enjoyed driving on the empty roads. But I can tell that everyone is emerging from hibernation because the cars are back on the roads en masse. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. Yeah, yeah, quit your honking, I’m moving.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours? www.personalhistorywriter.com