(To listen to this story, click on the photo above.)
Just
like the goose migration in the fall and the return of the robins in the
spring, you can almost set your clock by annual weather events in Iowa. They
happen every year without fail. Some examples:
-
In
the summer there’s at least one thunderstorm that makes you think the end of
the world is near.
-
Every
fall there’s at least one windy, windy day that makes you think you’re on the
set of The Wizard of Oz.
-
Every
winter there’s always at least one snowstorm that stops everyone in their
tracks and makes you wonder why you choose to live in Iowa.
-
In
the spring the robins and tulips always get snowed on at least once – you’d
think they’d learn, but they don’t.
And
then there’s March. March is what professional meteorologists refer to as a “transitional
month.” We civilians just call March a pain the in the butt. It’ll be 80
degrees one day and the next you’ll be shoveling snow, or even worse,
slip-sliding your way home from work in an ice storm. Which reminds me of one
of the most unusual things I ever saw.
Did I just see what I thought I saw?
I
was home from college on spring break. The wreckers at O’Connor’s Standard
Service in Osage, Iowa, had been running almost non-stop for three days. A two-day
winter snowstorm had run its course, but then morphed into an ice storm. The
town was covered in snow, which in turn, was covered in a quarter-inch of ice.
It
was my job to lock up the station that night. The phone rang just as I was
leaving. A guy had blown a tire when his car slid into a curb on an ice-covered
side street on the north side of town. He felt embarrassed to call because he was
perfectly capable of changing a flat tire, but because of the ice, every time he
tried to jack-up the car it slid off the jack. I told him I was on my way.
I had
the little wrecker in low gear as I slowly crawled up 6th Street.
It’s hard to describe just how slick it was that night. Not only was the ice
thick, but a steady mist was falling, adding to the lack of friction. It was a nightmare.
I
found the car nestled up against a curb about 20 yards from the intersection,
half-hidden by the darkness. The only light was a couple street lights at the
intersection. The front tire on the passenger side was flat.
On a
normal night, changing that tire would’ve been a very simple task that would
take less than five minutes. I’d use the wrecker’s winch to lift the front end,
rather than messing around with a jack that could pop out and cause me to get
crushed like a bug.
I
had to fight the ice to line up the wrecker’s back end with the car’s front
end. I finally got it on my third try. I triumphantly set the brake and jumped
out of the cab. And promptly fell flat on my face in the street. An
embarrassing start.
I
struggled to my feet. I had to keep one hand on the wrecker’s handrails as I
gathered my towing hook and chain and star-shaped lug wrench and made my way
slowly around the car to the flat tire. I fell to my knees three times getting
there. Not bad.
The
car’s owner was sympathetic. He said the same thing had happened to him. Misery
loves company. He had the spare tire out of the trunk and waiting for me.
I
hooked up the car to the towing sling and removed the lug nuts from the flat
tire. The winch made easy work of lifting the car. I fell two more times as I tried
to squat and swap the flat tire for the spare. I was bruised, beat up and
thoroughly unhappy. A simple task was turning into frozen, wet torture.
After
the final slip I found myself sitting in a puddle facing the axle. I decided
the better part of valor was to just stay seated. You can’t fall if you’re
already on the ground!
I
asked the driver to pass me the spare. He chuckled under his breath and rolled
it to me. I slid the wheel onto the lug bolts and started to hand-tighten the
nuts.
Then
it happened. It was like something out of a movie. The guy said, “The ice is so
thick we’d be better off putting on skates and skating home!” As God is my
witness, at that very moment from out of the darkness we heard the distinct
sound of metal against ice behind us, coming from 6th Street. In
unison, we turned toward the sound. The intersection was lit like center stage
– or more aptly, the center of an ice arena. I remember how the mist caused
little rainbows under the streetlights.
We
saw her as she emerged from the darkness. A lone woman ice skating down the
middle of the street. She was one of the local elementary teachers who lived in
the nearby apartments. She was originally from Minnesota and like everyone I
know from Minnesota, loved to ice skate.
As
she neared the intersection she yelled out, “Hi” and waved. When she came to
the center of the intersection she did a perfect pirouette, followed by “Bye!”
and skated off into the darkness.
My
customer looked and me and I looked at him – dumbfounded. After a long pause we
both burst out laughing. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have
believed it.
So
how icy was it that night? It was so icy you could skate down the middle of the
street – and I have proof!
I
just can’t make this stuff up.
###
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Ed O'Connor and the little wrecker.
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