In a post-holiday daze, my good friend Wayne and I decided to go for a road trip and head about 2.5 hours north to Beach Lake, PA to hang with his relatives at his uncle’s house. He hadn’t seen his mom in a while, and she lived in nearby Honesdale. It was a lazy Saturday and we were in the middle of Winter Break at Kutztown University. Wayne’s birthday was the following day, so I figured this would make a nice treat for him.
Since Wayne didn’t own a car, I drove us in my beige ’86 Ford Escort station wagon, a car my sister gave to me after she earned enough money as a nurse and decided to get a brand new VW Jetta. The wagon was nothing special, but it was my first car and I loved driving it.
The Escort didn’t have a tape deck or a CD player, so we jammed up the tunes via an old boom box that I kept in the backseat. I prided my journeys on killer mix tapes, primarily reggae, and had no time for the radio. But about an hour into our journey, we were quickly stuck in a snowstorm and turned on the radio to get some info. The word “blizzard” was being thrown around, but we saw no indication of that. It was snowing, but the majority of it was melting on the road, with about two inches on the grass, so we kept on going as it didn’t seem threatening. I felt a little nervous, but worst case scenario, we would just stay overnight at Wayne’s uncle’s house, I thought. But then we would be trapped there.
Soon we were on the long and winding Route 402, void of traffic lights, stop signs, and barely a shoulder — just a long 12 mile tour de force to Route 6. The snow was coming down heavy now, and it was extremely slippery. Some radio DJs were tossing around expected totals of 2 feet of snow. I gripped the wheel at 10 and 2, just waiting for the 402 route to end, as there was nowhere to pull over and think things over.
As we finally approached the traffic light at Route 6, I slowed the car down, but the brakes locked up and we skidded straight into the intersection. Luckily, nobody was in front of me at all. My car moved like wet bar of soap in a sudsy tub. We would’ve been toast if a truck hit us.
Traversing Route 6, the extreme wind and horizontal snow made it evident that we had to make a decision. Onward we cruised to Wayne’s uncle’s home! We realized that most people must have checked the forecast, as there weren’t many people on the road.
Finally we reached the house and were greeted by the garrulous uncle of Wayne, a bearded fellow about the same size as Wayne’s, with wire-rimmed glasses and the look of a professor. He let us know that the New Yorker relatives were not coming, and even Wayne’s mom wasn’t coming, who lived an hour away. I seem to remember eating some Tricuits and cheese before we hopped back in the car. We didn’t stay long. We had to get back!
Getting home was going smooth until Route 22, which we only needed to be on for about four miles, but the road was a white frigid mess. Car lanes were whited out from a slick layer of snow that plows just couldn’t get to in time. Huge chunks of snow were slamming into the windshield, as if we were going warp speed and could see nothing but streaks of stars. I knew this road quite well though and made it to the Trexlertown offramp. But upon circling downward the declining ramp, I lost complete vision. No cars were in front of me as a guide and we careened off the road into a ditch with a big POOF. The car was buried in a mass of plowed snow and we were stuck.
We had recently learned via the radio that a PA State Emergency had been declared by Governor Tom Ridge, and that all non-emergency vehicles were to be off the road. Well, we were off the road now. Fucked.
There was a Holiday Inn about a mile or so away, so we got out of the car and started walking. We didn’t have anything with us but the clothes on us that were starting to get frosted with rapid fire flakes. Cars were a rare site at this point, aside from some courageous truckers out on deliveries and refusing to pull over. There was no safe area to walk, so we constantly looked around for cars, as the snow was muffling their sounds.
In the Holiday Inn lobby, we warmed up and stared out at the madness we just walked through. It was around 4:30 pm, and it would soon start getting dark out. I had an emergency credit card on me that my parents had given me. I didn’t even know what the hell it looked like, as it was crammed deep in the back of my wallet, never used, covered by my student ID, and band fliers I had jammed in there. I got us a room for the night, and we sat and watched the local news coverage and discovered that 30+ inches of snow had fallen in Berks County! The “Blizzard Of ’96″ had paralyzed dozens of towns and cities in Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, Rhode Island, North Carolina. Big Meadows, Virginia got hit the most, with a whopping 47 inches.
After a couple of beers at the hotel bar and a good night’s rest, we powered up on a big breakfast in the hotel cafe and went out to access the damage. The snow had finally stopped, but the accumulation had almost doubled it seemed. The Pennsylvania State Emergency was still in effect, and only plows and cops in 4-wheel drive vehicles were out. There was the occasional rogue trucker out, but it was primarily a desolate surreal scene outside. We went to where we figured the Escort would be, but we couldn’t find it with our boots and stamping about, void of any shovels. The plows had created walls of snow along the offramp and I didn’t even know where to start.
We warmed up back in the hotel lobby for a bit and then decided to walk the remaining 12 miles back to Kutztown. We headed down a brief stretch of Route 100 and then onto Schantz Road, a long winding road that connected with Route 222. We had a disposable camera on us and took a couple shots of us, laughing, goofing, and in good spirits. The plow tires had done a good job of at least flattening the snow to a path that we could walk on. This went on for just a couple miles though. We were then greeted with a wall of snow up to our waists, a completely untouched part of Schantz Road stretched off into the distance for as long as we could see.
A bit delirious, we decided to just give it a shot. The snow was powdery for the most part and we could walk through it, as long as each step marched with a big knee jerk upward. The surrounding farmland was completely covered and telephone wires were weighed down above us. After a hundred yards, the exhaustion of walking caught on fast and we retreated back to our footprint path to Route 100.
From there, we headed to Route 222. This was out of the way, but it was plowed and we were making progress. We tried hitchhiking, but nobody would pick us up or even slow down. Vehicles were rare, but they required your attention as they could cascade off the rode easily. The air was damp and nothing was melting. I just kept focusing on getting a meal at the Beef & Pita House on Main Street, cozied up with a couple ales.
With about 4 miles to go, a pickup truck actually stopped for us and let us sit in the back. The frigid wind seemed felt like it was leaving abrasion on my cheeks, but it was well worth it. I tried to hide my face between my knees, like I was trying to give myself a blow job. We made it back to Kutztown without any frostbite.
A couple days later, the snow was beginning to melt. My parents, along with my brother-in-law, drove the two hours to my apartment, armed with a few shovels. Wayne and I were waiting for them, and we piled into the backseat of their car. I never felt so idiotic in my life. Explaining the story to my beer buzzed roommates was easy, but now here I was, not sure if we’d even find a car that was a gift from my sister. I was a little kid in the backseat again, getting odd quick glances from my parents as they focused on the road.
After digging randomly for a while, someone’s shovel blade created a heavy thump — the roof of my car! The junker was already battered up a bit, so scraping the body with an aluminum shovel was the least of our worries.
Drivers passing by gawked at us as we chipped away amidst our icy excavation, sculpting the moment and searching for my poor 10-year-old car. This was the last thing my Dad needed to be doing, as my Mom looked on from the car with pensive gestures. Here I was, trying to save a car my sister had given to me for free while my parents wasted a weekend. They were clearly a bit annoyed. After all, I had already almost destroyed the car the previous summer by putting the wrong oil in it. But, they were there regardless, busting their backs.
Well, the car was quite low in a ditch, but I was certain I could drive it out. My Dad gave me the all clear and I let it rip, but there wasn’t much of a give and the car slid back down into the clutches of the ditch.
A cop car passed by and parked. A nice lady officer came over to us and asked if we needed help. Before trying anything, the officer put orange cones down and blocked the offramp. She searched her trunk and found a long steel chain that was worth trying. She affixed it to the back of her Crown Vic while my Dad fastened it to my car. I looked over my shoulder and saw the traffic jam of people quickly piling up as they were forced to sit and watch. The officer gave a thumbs up and we both gassed the pedals. She popped my car out of the ditch like a loose molar out of a gum.
As the officer was putting the chain back in the trunk, I realized that my car was completely out of gas. I was now blocking the ever increasing offramp traffic, stuck on the road where a tow truck couldn’t get to me. My Dad looked away in disgust and disbelief. I’ve never ran out of gas before. Luckily the officer had a red gas jug in her car and gave me just enough to get to a station.
Wayne hopped in the car with me and we were on the road again. I gripped the wheel at 10 and 2, sitting upright and focused. I pulled into a gas station with my parents car behind me. We all gassed up got some crappy junk food. We even managed a couple laughs. I hugged my parents goodbye and shook my brother-in-law’s hand. I barely knew the guy, and he had gratefully helped out as well. Everyone got pats on the back. I didn’t want them to leave. I just wanted to drink hot coffee in that parking lot and see them smile. It was getting dark.
I had so much to learn, but felt beyond fortunate to have understanding parents that let me live the life I was chiseling out, as ridiculous and off-track as the results often were.
Blizzard Of ’96
Saturday, January 6th, 1996.
In a post-holiday daze, my good friend Wayne and I decided to go for a road trip and head about 2.5 hours north to Beach Lake, PA to hang with his relatives at his uncle’s house. He hadn’t seen his mom in a while, and she lived in nearby Honesdale. It was a lazy Saturday and we were in the middle of Winter Break at Kutztown University. Wayne’s birthday was the following day, so I figured this would make a nice treat for him.
Since Wayne didn’t own a car, I drove us in my beige ’86 Ford Escort station wagon, a car my sister gave to me after she earned enough money as a nurse and decided to get a brand new VW Jetta. The wagon was nothing special, but it was my first car and I loved driving it.
The Escort didn’t have a tape deck or a CD player, so we jammed up the tunes via an old boom box that I kept in the backseat. I prided my journeys on killer mix tapes, primarily reggae, and had no time for the radio. But about an hour into our journey, we were quickly stuck in a snowstorm and turned on the radio to get some info. The word “blizzard” was being thrown around, but we saw no indication of that. It was snowing, but the majority of it was melting on the road, with about two inches on the grass, so we kept on going as it didn’t seem threatening. I felt a little nervous, but worst case scenario, we would just stay overnight at Wayne’s uncle’s house, I thought. But then we would be trapped there.
Soon we were on the long and winding Route 402, void of traffic lights, stop signs, and barely a shoulder — just a long 12 mile tour de force to Route 6. The snow was coming down heavy now, and it was extremely slippery. Some radio DJs were tossing around expected totals of 2 feet of snow. I gripped the wheel at 10 and 2, just waiting for the 402 route to end, as there was nowhere to pull over and think things over.
As we finally approached the traffic light at Route 6, I slowed the car down, but the brakes locked up and we skidded straight into the intersection. Luckily, nobody was in front of me at all. My car moved like wet bar of soap in a sudsy tub. We would’ve been toast if a truck hit us.
Traversing Route 6, the extreme wind and horizontal snow made it evident that we had to make a decision. Onward we cruised to Wayne’s uncle’s home! We realized that most people must have checked the forecast, as there weren’t many people on the road.
Finally we reached the house and were greeted by the garrulous uncle of Wayne, a bearded fellow about the same size as Wayne’s, with wire-rimmed glasses and the look of a professor. He let us know that the New Yorker relatives were not coming, and even Wayne’s mom wasn’t coming, who lived an hour away. I seem to remember eating some Tricuits and cheese before we hopped back in the car. We didn’t stay long. We had to get back!
Getting home was going smooth until Route 22, which we only needed to be on for about four miles, but the road was a white frigid mess. Car lanes were whited out from a slick layer of snow that plows just couldn’t get to in time. Huge chunks of snow were slamming into the windshield, as if we were going warp speed and could see nothing but streaks of stars. I knew this road quite well though and made it to the Trexlertown offramp. But upon circling downward the declining ramp, I lost complete vision. No cars were in front of me as a guide and we careened off the road into a ditch with a big POOF. The car was buried in a mass of plowed snow and we were stuck.
We had recently learned via the radio that a PA State Emergency had been declared by Governor Tom Ridge, and that all non-emergency vehicles were to be off the road. Well, we were off the road now. Fucked.
There was a Holiday Inn about a mile or so away, so we got out of the car and started walking. We didn’t have anything with us but the clothes on us that were starting to get frosted with rapid fire flakes. Cars were a rare site at this point, aside from some courageous truckers out on deliveries and refusing to pull over. There was no safe area to walk, so we constantly looked around for cars, as the snow was muffling their sounds.
In the Holiday Inn lobby, we warmed up and stared out at the madness we just walked through. It was around 4:30 pm, and it would soon start getting dark out. I had an emergency credit card on me that my parents had given me. I didn’t even know what the hell it looked like, as it was crammed deep in the back of my wallet, never used, covered by my student ID, and band fliers I had jammed in there. I got us a room for the night, and we sat and watched the local news coverage and discovered that 30+ inches of snow had fallen in Berks County! The “Blizzard Of ’96″ had paralyzed dozens of towns and cities in Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, Rhode Island, North Carolina. Big Meadows, Virginia got hit the most, with a whopping 47 inches.
After a couple of beers at the hotel bar and a good night’s rest, we powered up on a big breakfast in the hotel cafe and went out to access the damage. The snow had finally stopped, but the accumulation had almost doubled it seemed. The Pennsylvania State Emergency was still in effect, and only plows and cops in 4-wheel drive vehicles were out. There was the occasional rogue trucker out, but it was primarily a desolate surreal scene outside. We went to where we figured the Escort would be, but we couldn’t find it with our boots and stamping about, void of any shovels. The plows had created walls of snow along the offramp and I didn’t even know where to start.
We warmed up back in the hotel lobby for a bit and then decided to walk the remaining 12 miles back to Kutztown. We headed down a brief stretch of Route 100 and then onto Schantz Road, a long winding road that connected with Route 222. We had a disposable camera on us and took a couple shots of us, laughing, goofing, and in good spirits. The plow tires had done a good job of at least flattening the snow to a path that we could walk on. This went on for just a couple miles though. We were then greeted with a wall of snow up to our waists, a completely untouched part of Schantz Road stretched off into the distance for as long as we could see.
A bit delirious, we decided to just give it a shot. The snow was powdery for the most part and we could walk through it, as long as each step marched with a big knee jerk upward. The surrounding farmland was completely covered and telephone wires were weighed down above us. After a hundred yards, the exhaustion of walking caught on fast and we retreated back to our footprint path to Route 100.
From there, we headed to Route 222. This was out of the way, but it was plowed and we were making progress. We tried hitchhiking, but nobody would pick us up or even slow down. Vehicles were rare, but they required your attention as they could cascade off the rode easily. The air was damp and nothing was melting. I just kept focusing on getting a meal at the Beef & Pita House on Main Street, cozied up with a couple ales.
With about 4 miles to go, a pickup truck actually stopped for us and let us sit in the back. The frigid wind seemed felt like it was leaving abrasion on my cheeks, but it was well worth it. I tried to hide my face between my knees, like I was trying to give myself a blow job. We made it back to Kutztown without any frostbite.
A couple days later, the snow was beginning to melt. My parents, along with my brother-in-law, drove the two hours to my apartment, armed with a few shovels. Wayne and I were waiting for them, and we piled into the backseat of their car. I never felt so idiotic in my life. Explaining the story to my beer buzzed roommates was easy, but now here I was, not sure if we’d even find a car that was a gift from my sister. I was a little kid in the backseat again, getting odd quick glances from my parents as they focused on the road.
After digging randomly for a while, someone’s shovel blade created a heavy thump — the roof of my car! The junker was already battered up a bit, so scraping the body with an aluminum shovel was the least of our worries.
Drivers passing by gawked at us as we chipped away amidst our icy excavation, sculpting the moment and searching for my poor 10-year-old car. This was the last thing my Dad needed to be doing, as my Mom looked on from the car with pensive gestures. Here I was, trying to save a car my sister had given to me for free while my parents wasted a weekend. They were clearly a bit annoyed. After all, I had already almost destroyed the car the previous summer by putting the wrong oil in it. But, they were there regardless, busting their backs.
Well, the car was quite low in a ditch, but I was certain I could drive it out. My Dad gave me the all clear and I let it rip, but there wasn’t much of a give and the car slid back down into the clutches of the ditch.
A cop car passed by and parked. A nice lady officer came over to us and asked if we needed help. Before trying anything, the officer put orange cones down and blocked the offramp. She searched her trunk and found a long steel chain that was worth trying. She affixed it to the back of her Crown Vic while my Dad fastened it to my car. I looked over my shoulder and saw the traffic jam of people quickly piling up as they were forced to sit and watch. The officer gave a thumbs up and we both gassed the pedals. She popped my car out of the ditch like a loose molar out of a gum.
As the officer was putting the chain back in the trunk, I realized that my car was completely out of gas. I was now blocking the ever increasing offramp traffic, stuck on the road where a tow truck couldn’t get to me. My Dad looked away in disgust and disbelief. I’ve never ran out of gas before. Luckily the officer had a red gas jug in her car and gave me just enough to get to a station.
Wayne hopped in the car with me and we were on the road again. I gripped the wheel at 10 and 2, sitting upright and focused. I pulled into a gas station with my parents car behind me. We all gassed up got some crappy junk food. We even managed a couple laughs. I hugged my parents goodbye and shook my brother-in-law’s hand. I barely knew the guy, and he had gratefully helped out as well. Everyone got pats on the back. I didn’t want them to leave. I just wanted to drink hot coffee in that parking lot and see them smile. It was getting dark.
I had so much to learn, but felt beyond fortunate to have understanding parents that let me live the life I was chiseling out, as ridiculous and off-track as the results often were.