A Cold Truth?

Back in September, I blogged about adulthood (“Autumn of our Years?”), promising to continue the inquiry throughout the year. I write today from beside the fireplace, having shoveled many cubic yards of snow both during and after yesterday’s bona fide blizzard. My muscles are nice and loose, and I am in a very fine mood to raise some more questions about this current stage of life. 

I lurched out in the thick of it yesterday afternoon to open up our sidewalk for the many pedestrians in our neighborhood. I was no match for the wind, but my primary goal was exercise: I knew that I couldn’t get to the gym, even with 4WD. The streets had not yet been plowed, and full-size, 4WD vehicles were getting stuck in the middle of the street.

While I shoveled, three stuck drivers asked for my help, and I agreed. Each was young, and each had underestimated the snow as they set out for joy rides. We shoveled and we shoved, and they left. As I returned to my sidewalk, a fourth young man approached me asking for help. I was the only one out on the street, amid screaming winds and failing light. He and his girlfriend were stuck around the corner in a tiny Subaru. They were “out doing some shopping,” he said, and “never should have turned down this street.”

That wasn’t the half of it. They were without boots or substantial gloves, without a snow shovel, without a charge on their cell phone batteries. Even here in the urban core, but this was not weather with which to trifle. I suggested that we turn them around and get them back to the nearest Snow Emergency Route, but my young traveler was adamant that if he “just got some momentum,” they could push through the next two blocks. I helped for another 15 hard-fought feet.  Optimism was no match for physics.

Four young guys pulled up in a Range Rover, gleefully ran to the Subaru, and began shoving. I beat a hasty retreat. They had no more luck than had we, and ultimately struggled to push their own truck out of the snow.  Undaunted, they returned with a tow strap, and all but two drivers slowly pushed the conjoined vehicles down the street and out of sight. One could imagine a similar scene, say, on the steppes of Mongolia.

I used to be one of those guys. I still love driving through snow, but yesterday I knew that an official 23 inches plus drifting was too much for my Pilot, as it was for the Tahoe, Expedition, and Tundra that I pushed, before I pushed the Subaru. In my youth, it would have been irresistible. I have fond memories of driving around with friends – in all manner of vehicles – digging and pushing out other motorists.

Now, I’m concerned about blocking the street for others, or an avoidable back injury.  Further, I’ll confess: I’m a little miffed at people who venture out in a blizzard for no good reason (i.e., anything short of dialysis), only to inconvenience those of us who are more prudent and better prepared.

What happened to me? The answer to that question must reveal something of the nature of adulthood.