Well, had to drive back to Norfolk two nights ago through Pennsylvania during the unholy ice barrage that crippled the state for days. I usually take I-83, it's a little longer, but much less crowded. Of course, there was an accident that closed 581E, so all of those guys were now in my way. Moving so slowly that your car loses airstream and the snow begins piling up on top of it is a pretty depressing experience. The slow accumulation over all the windows makes one feel as if they are the last bastion of light being subsumed by the unending wrath of frigid oblivion. After getting 30 yards in as many minutes, I opted for the turnpike to get me to I-81 in Harrisburg. Much less traffic out there, which was something of a double-edged sword. I-83 had so many cars that none of the snow could reach the road. No such "luck" on the pike. I didn't think much of it since the roads had been plowed an hour or so ago and were still drivable if you were careful. What I didn't consider was that the off-ramps hadn't been plowed since the Carter administration and had turned into convoluted, Seussian frozen death traps. Naturally, I didn't arrive at this conclusion until I couldn't merge back on. Of course it wasn't like I realistically had a choice. I had to get off the highway sometime.

Anyway, I braked down to about 20 before my tires started skidding, I had to take my foot completely off the brake before I got traction back so that I could steer and take the exit, and from there I had to navigate the winding labyrinth leading to Harrisburg. The ramp was pretty much ice covered in slush, so I didn't really even have time to assess how boned I was before I started going off the road. The nice thing about front-wheel drive is that you can direct force where you actually want to go rather than whatever random direction the car happens to be facing at the time. I got through the first curve okay, but my car didn't feel much like turning anymore after that. I got turned the right direction eventually, but continued moving the same way I was before. Moving sideways being a rather uncomfortable experience for me, I accelerated just enough to stay in the road and get the car going straight again. Of course by then I had run out of road in that direction as well since the ramp curved around by about 480 degrees. I knew that if I turned I would probably lose traction again, but I saw the tail end of the guardrail directly in front of me. Guardrails are typically put up in front of ditches or Stygian pits of endless torment, so I figured that something bad awaited anyone traveling in my current direction and I was in no mood to find out exactly what. I went for the prize behind door number two and turned again, successfully, more or less. I ended up oversteering and swinging around into the median.

The collision was hardly dramatic since I did manage to slow down a fair bit. I wanted to step out and get a damage report, but I saw a truck coming down the ramp. Considering that it took most of the length of the ramp and a concrete wall to get my mid-size sedan to stop, I wasn't banking on him being able to do anything to avoid turning my car into a compact. I backed out and made my way forward. Fortunately I had ample time since the truck had also taken the ramp at terrified-of-frozen-death speed. Unfortunately my car was making excruciating grinding and scraping noises, probably related to how it just ate a big chunk of dividing wall. I managed to get off the road out of harm's way and pull into a Waffle House without further significant disaster. I called around to let people at work know I'd probably be late and had a big greasy bacon sandwich because hey, 'when in Rome' etc.

I was starting to get really bummed about this whole escapade when I came back out to take a look at it again. When I did though, I found that the damage was pretty superficial. A big ugly scrape on the bumper, no big deal. It's not like I paid $3600 out-of-pocket to get this car painted a month ago or anything. And it turns out the noise I heard was just some piece of plastic that had come loose from the wheel-well and was scraping against the tire. I tore that off and proceeded to let Mother Nature know she could kiss my ass. Traffic had thinned out significantly by then because of the numerous radio advisories across the whole state letting everyone know that they had best not go outside lest they risk being molested by voracious yetis. I instantly began to regret that I had forgotten to clean off my wipers before I left. They moved, but were nearly frozen solid. Before long there was an audible thump as the ice wipers hit the rapidly aggregating deposits of ice from the snow and sleet they had pushed to either side of the windshield. I managed to shake those off at the only rest stop I encountered in the entire state of Maryland, once again getting a grand tour of a place where snowplows fear to tread. By the time I reached the VA border it was nothing but freezing rain and my car was coated in a thick layer of ice that was encrusted with shards of previous ice layers I had smashed off the windows and windshield with my fists. I'm glad I had gloves, because I found manual de-icing to be very cathartic and enthusiastically partook in a round of it whenever I stopped. I would likely be getting a good look at my knuckle bones right now had I engaged in such fisticuffs bare-handed.

The traffic report in Virginia was, and I quote: "Frozen conditions and the holidays have kept the roads pretty empty, except for I-95 South which has all lanes backed up from Fredricksburg all the way to Davison Army Air Field." So comforting to know that I'm on the only road in the state that has traffic problems. And that I'm using it to get around a bunch of water, so I really have no alternatives. Somewhere along that particular trail of tears I cheated my way into the restricted lanes through some injudiciously placed temporary barriers only to have Karma rain on my parade by having the lanes end and re-merge after five miles. Of course, the universe could've taken vengeance on me in the form of multiple moving violations, so I guess I can't complain too much about the exact form that divine condemnation took in this case.

There wasn't an obstruction in the road or anything, just the logistical problem of a tremendous stampede of cars on the same road all at once, most likely the terrified masses fleeing DC upon hearing of the incoming icy wrath of Shiva. This meant that traffic got moving again relatively quickly, only about 45 minutes. It also meant that there was no bottleneck that caused the volume of traffic to decrease. So there was still a massive caravan of pissed-off and/or terrified motorists on the roadway, it was just that this tightly packed cavalcade of snowpocalypse refugees was now moving at highway speed. Ten feet from the car in front of you and 18 inches from the tractor trailer to your right while going 60 MPH is a great environment to be in when your car starts melting and begins shedding giant frozen shards in all directions. I was getting worn by then, so I was certainly grateful for an environment conducive to my staying awake. It's a bit tough to nod off when your train of thought sounds like "Okay, I am extremely close to the other several dozen fast-moving cars that I can see and probably a few more that I can't. I have to focus here because there's no margin for error and if any of us screws up we're all going to end up as the croutons in a giant twisted metal salad so I've got to- OH SWEET HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS WHAT THEFUCKJUSTHITMYWINSHIELD!" Typed that by holding down the shift key the whole way, FYI. Cheating and using caps lock just didn't feel extreme enough to convey the traumatic fear-seizures that these conditions induced. So anyway, yeah, alertness level: Long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I'm pretty use the en-route heart attacks that I suffered were small in severity, but they were far to frequent for me to regain any sort of peace of mind.

I arrived home in a state that could debateably be called alive, my nine-hour drive having taken on the upper side of 14.5 hours. I looked at my watch to discover that it was five minutes to tomorrow. I had to be up for work in the morning. I was setting my alarm when I realized that we've changed naval bases and muster times since I was last aboard, so I had absolutely no concept of how long it would take to get to the ship or when I was supposed to be there. There was also a staggering lack of people that would answer their phone at half-past sonofabitch in the morning to convey this key information to me. So I took a random stab at it and went to bed for a few hours. I slept eventually, I think. I had trouble relaxing for some reason. There is a gap in my recollection of that period though, so I assume that I either slept or lost consciousness from heart palpitations and diffuse cerebral hypoxia.

Apparently I chose wisely by picking an unreasonably early time to show up, as the duty sections moved around and I now had duty, beginning five minutes before I arrived to work. Twelve hours of watch? Interminable periods of sitting in a chair and not being allowed to fall asleep under pain of death? Bring it on! What do you think I was practicing for yesterday? I got to sleep relatively easy for my between-watch nap, but woke up feeling pretty shaky. Lots of mucous and cold-like unpleasantness all hitting me all at once. It appears that some yuletide pathogen has capitalized on my stress-enfeebled state. That or I've been sick the whole time and didn't run out of adrenaline until just this morning.

Oh, also after I got off watch and went to morning quarters I found out my Workcenter Supervisor, Maintenance Group Supervisor, Assistant and Leading Petty officer, and Leading Crew Chief all went on leave at the same time. That, plus my recent advancement, made me the most senor person in the plant. It also means that I am ALL OF THOSE THINGS for the rest of the leave period. Good thing I know how to do almost zero of those jobs.

That which does not kill me...

merely postpones the inevitable.