Drove into work in heavy snowfall, at speeds never exceeding 25 mph. Oh, but coming home...!
Yeah, about that. Meridian Street, the central, major North-South route in a city that lacks a North-South freeway, two lanes in each direction from Washington Street (old U.S. 40) until well north of Carmel?
It's not. Oh, there's like 1.75 lanes each way until one is out of Downtown and across Fall Creek, more or less, but from there to 38th, it varied between 1.25 and 0.75 lanes. Erratically. With nice tall stacked-up tire-catching snow-walls, not all of which led in good directions.
I'm clever -- I decided to cut across to College Avenue on 38th St., another major, major thoroughfare. A major snow-covered thoroughfare, though at least it is more-or-less uniformly mushed across all lanes. I make the turn (yowza!) and I'm a-zippin' along at a blazing 20 mph, pretty proud of myself, until I discover everyone a half-block ahead has chosen 15 mph, and they're sticking with it. At 15, the ol' Hottest Needle Of Inquiry is not so happy; it's harder to get a good match between torque and friction. Neverthewhoo, I endeavor to persevere and work my way to College Avenue, there to turn once more to the North.
Ah, College Ave.! Gateway to Broad Ripple! Another major North-South route! How bad can it be? ...Oh, why dared I hope? Two lanes northbound are whittled down to one-or-less, the road surface varying randomly from wet to slush to thick slush to heaps of plowed-out-driveway snow and the last few blocks shy of Fresh Market are well-carpeted in genuine, much-rutted snow. Next stretch northward, it's better, whew (still not as nice as Tam's deceptiphoto from Fresh Market's lot, IMOYMMVROFL), and then the maze of little streets is as bad as you might think: just tracked enough to be navigable at a steady crawl.
Gentlemen? Ladies? Yetis of unobvious gender? It is plain to me that Winter has, in fact, arrived, lugging a very large suitcase and every intention of making itself t'home.
Tomorrow? I expect the wet spot, slush and snow to have become ice overnight. Snowplow drivers were out all day today, visibility permitting, and I can only hope they'll be able to grab enough sleep to be on the road before me.
1. Where the slimy parts of your car and/or hair magically change from "greasy" to "greazy." It's natural wonder, a dialect dividing line, where language thunders down over a vast fault. Whose fault, exactly, I shall leave for the reader to decide.
2. An '02 Hynadai Accent, named like its two predecessors for a Kzinti torture device. Inexpensive and durable if not subjected to impact, they are something less than a pleasure to own and drive. On the other hand, they'll generally get you from point A to point B, you can carry 8' X 2' lumber in the hatchback version, they're not terribly expensive to keep running -- at least so far! -- and at the rate of decline in the prices I've paid for each one, the next one will either be free or I'll be paid to drive it away.
3. One would hope this phrase rings a bell. But it might not. Whatever.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago