We took a long, fulfilling journey through the snow Saturday.
We had an event planned a few weeks in advance. By midweek, it looked like it may come victim to the weather. Last week, I wrote about the importance of meteorology. Now, a major event in my life was almost scuttled because of a storm prediction of up to 16 inches three days in advance.
I talked to all involved that very same day and warned them of the impending storm. “This doesn’t look like it’s going to happen,” I said, reporting the ominous forecast.
By Thursday, that prediction looked grim, but optimism returned. “This looks like it still could happen,” I said, reporting the less ominous – but not as ominous as the day before – forecast.
Then, on Friday, Mother Nature’s actual scheme became a little more clear. It was down to a range of a manageable five inches of fluff to a less manageable eight inches. “We should be able to make this happen,” I said in my daily team report.
That evening, I mentally prepared for a successful mission. I was going to be project lead on this one, so I knew I had to be at 100% by sunrise. That didn’t really entail much more than checking the radar on my phone every morning to try to get firsthand knowledge of what I would be up against in 12 hours. As a backup plan to the radar, I also opened the front door and looked outside to see if it was snowing. It wasn’t. But later it was.
I slept as well as I sleep, which isn’t the best to be honest. I awoke at first light, eager to check conditions and because the dogs woke me up to go outside. There was accumulated snow all around. From my vantage point at the front door, it was clear that it was several inches up the dogs’ legs. When they came in, further scientific investigation led me to the conclusion it was still snowing, as snowflakes dotted their black fur.
I decided, since it was still dark and a couple hours from mission launch, to give nature some time to run its course and to allow for plow drivers to chart their course.
Mission navigator and wife arose shortly and apprised her of the situation. I reported to her and all involved that I planned a test run at 0930 hours and was planning for a successful launch at 10 a.m. I reverted to standard time in my report, so as not to fear they couldn’t understand military jargon.
At 0915, I started the car to warm it up for a bit, prior to my test run. There was a lot at stake here, and if there was a failure of some kind, like getting stuck in a snowdrift, I knew warmth would be an ally. Precisely as scheduled, I barreled through the end of my driveway, onto the side street and then onto the main road with little pause or regard for rules of traffic, for I was on an important mission, and no one else was dumb enough to be driving then anyway.
I found the city roads to be navigable despite the unplowed snow cover. The real test was the highway. I knew this was the make or break part of the mission. On and off ramps are always dicey. However, the right lane of the highway was all clear.
I returned to home base and reported to all: “All systems are go!”
And after a two-hour journey – about 50 minutes longer than normal because of the conditions on the ground – grandma and grandpa arrived at their destination and got to spend the day babysitting.
Twelve hours later, tired from a day with two toddlers, I looked back on the adventure. “Mission successful,” I reported, if only to myself, because the copilot was weary upon arrival and had already returned to quarters.