I Fought The Plow And The Plow Won

To the best of my recollection, there were no questions about driving in icy conditions and avoiding snow plows on the Mississippi state drivers license exam in 1977. The need for awareness of one's surroundings is magnified tremendously on an Omaha street in Januay from your typical Picayune thoroughfare at any other time.

That said, you would think that the operator of a snow plow for the state of Nebraska would be able to see a Chevy Express in the adjacent lane and not attempt to scrape it from the pavement like so much frozen precipitation. But that was not the case, and the result was not pretty.

I have seen my share of auto hockey on the roads of the Midwest. Every year I cringe to think what might be waiting in the future. I have driven 35 miles per hour in a snow storm on the rumble strip of Interstate 90 between Sioux Falls and Worthington trailing an eighteen-wheeler and praying that I might see my family again. I have rolled a vehicle across the median east of Mitchell and stared in disbelief at the state trooper's citation for overdriving road conditions, saying "You weren't here, how could you possibly know?" when the truth was that the wind blew my van into an uncontrollable spin. And each year I think that this will be the last.

I drive typically one thousand miles per week, on average. Unless my Mississippi public school education fails me, that is 52 thousand miles per year, and roughly half a million over ten years. The odds of a crack up happening on occasion are pretty good, resulting in a somewhat fatalistic attitude on my part. The good news is that a significant portion of the year is not covered in ice and snow. So I continue to traverse the roads of the Great Plains, smiling when I can and cringing when I can't while trying to make it to the next stop, looking left and right for moveable danger and aware now more than ever that friendly fellow travellers, like snow plows, are sometimes wolves in sheep's clothing.

Along The Road

The first time I saw a hunting dog race down the hallway of my hotel, I will admit I was surprised. He was followed by his owner, in camouflage and carrying bags to the room after a day in the fields of South Dakota. I was also on the way to my room in the Holiday Inn Express in Aberdeen, and might have been less surprised had I already seen the sign posted in the rooms there that said:



Please do not clean game in the rooms. Thank You.



Over the years, I have stayed in many types of hotels and rooms in my travels. Everything from economy rooms that do not even provide shampoo, to suites with everything available at any time of day or night. For a road warrior, the ability to roll with the punches is essential. One day in Waterloo, IA I proceeded to my room and opened the door only to find opened luggage on the coffee table and someone in the bathroom. I quietly retreated and suggested to the desk clerk that she re-check her guest log and try again. Imagine if there had been an NRA convention in that hotel. Or a gathering of Ultimate Fighting hopefuls. Things might not have turned out like they did.
One thing that is common to every place of lodging along the highways of this great land is a lack of any reliable method of heating and cooling the room. No matter how many times the thermostat is adjusted, it is almost impossible to find the "sweet spot" and sleep soundly. This results in insomnia that is only tempered by watching David Letterman, or one show all about the making of another show that is only airing at some other time on HBO.
As the night drags on, along the corridor, fellow guests are tossing and turning in a vain attempt to find comfort. There we are, all under one roof, trying to make it through the night. And the only ones really happy are the hunting dogs, dreaming of plummeting waterfowl in the Dakota fields, and the thrill of the chase.