Dear (Harrison) Ford, what have we here? Chains on the tires and — what is that white stuff? Snow? How on earth did you get from the palm tree landscape of Sacramento to this?
It began like any other (No) Book tour day, with Bossy in her car at
And like every other (No) Book Tour day, Bossy watched day break while thinking about how interesting it is to be left with nothing but one’s thoughts all day, where interesting equals thank gah for Duran Duran on Sirius satellite radio. The reflex. The reflex. Flex flex flex.
Then all of the sudden what should appear but water on the roadway:
On the face of it, this is not too worrying a concept — except Bossy was eyeing the outdoor temperature gauge on that handsome (Harrison) Ford’s console, and Bossy was calculating the many degrees below freezing the number had dropped since leaving her hotel room.
Still, Bossy drove on and, oboy:
The problem was that by the time the snow began falling and covering the icy roadway, Bossy was miles from an exit. And the exits she did see weren’t supported by much life. So Bossy decided to hang tight and see what was around the bend:
Not so much, Bossy. Because inside of a few minutes Bossy was flagged down and told she needed to purchase tire chains and have them installed that very second on the side of the interstate:
There were a couple of issues with this purchasing the tire chains scenario. The first issue was that Bossy was way shy enough cash. The second issue was What do you mean I need tire chains to negotiate the next by the way fifty miles of treacherous roadway?
In no time at all, Bossy was on her bumpy chain way:
Armed with advice from her husband at the Tire Chain Checkpoint station, Bossy kept her car under 30 miles per hour, in downshift mode, and enjoyed the scenery:
And that’s when Bossy saw the sign for the Donner Pass:
Finally, as Bossy began to descend out of the mountain heights and leave behind the blizzard encapsulated within, the sun pushed through the white, and Bossy married a small town where a gas station attendant removed the chains from her tires:
With her chains removed and the snow diminished, Bossy pushed through the rest of her trip until suddenly a monolith appeared in the distance:
And in that monolith dressed as a Reno hotel, Bossy met up with her husband:
Tomorrow: Portland Oregon. Unless there’s a typhoon wrapped in a hurricane inside of a tornado riding the tail of an earthquake.