Oh What a Wicked Road We Sweave, When For the Auction We Do Leave

Got snow?

We've had our fair share here in Backroads this month. Days off school due to inclement weather? Our count is now 9 days. Nothing like last year's 21, of course. But almost as satisfying. Problem is, the texture is becoming more unpleasant.

Tuesday we braved the rush-hour precipitation. I was not a happy camper, nor a happy T-Hoe pilot. That stuff was slick, even in 4WD with my extra caution. Saturday, we got out early to avoid the afternoon predictions. On my way back from dropping The Pony off for his bowling league, the flurries turned more serious.

Hick planned on his regular Saturday night auction. He even left a little early to run by some hardware store for a doodad he hasn't hoarded for one of his current projects. He was in charge of feeding himself, and chose two slices of leftover pizza and some fresher leftover crab rangoon. He announced at 5:00 that he was leaving, taking his 4WD Ford F250 Extended Cab that mostly sits parked in front of the BARn while he drives the $1000 Caravan with year-round studded snow tires.

At 5:15 I heard a commotion on the porch. Those darn fleabags! You'd think they'd never seen snow before. The barking. The thumping. THE OPENING OF THE DOOR!

"PONY! Who's coming in the front door?"

He ran upstairs. "It's just Dad."

"I thought he went to the auction."

Hick took off the boots he'd been kicking against the front wall, right under the area where that red plastic milk crate package receptacle hung until a couple weeks ago, and stumped downstairs to explain.

"I got all the way to the Smith house. Not the Smith compound. The rich Smith house. I pulled over a little to let a car go by, and my tire went off the road. I thought I was never going to get back on. Even in 4WD I couldn't pull myself up on the road. I thought I was going to have to drive all the way to that entrance road past his field, where the turkey hunter parks."

"Wait a minute. The RICH Smith house? You would have been going downhill. Straight. How could you not get your tire back on the road? It's a couple inches."

"I know, Val. That's what I'm telling you. This stuff is slick! I finally got back on the road and turned around on that gravel road with the three-car-garage house for sale. I figured if I had that much trouble before I even went three miles, I didn't need to go to the auction all that bad."

Yep. You know the roads ain't good when the Master Sweaver can't get out. As much as I complain about Hick's driving, he's really good on snow and ice. This was the first time I ever heard him declare that the roads were too bad to go to the auction.

I am staying in today. Not even lottery, gas station chicken, or a 44 oz. Diet Coke can lure me out.