Friction Not

(Watching the problems in Atlanta last week reminded me of a similar event several years ago in Raleigh)

We in central North Carolina experienced an extremely mild winter in 2005, easily the mildest I’ve seen. However, we had one weather event that forced us to peer through the paper-thin tissue paper illusion of our civilization. Whilst sitting at my desk at work I became tangentially aware that snow was falling outside. Strangely it was not melting per the agreed upon North Carolina meteorological contract: Snow falls. It melts. Move on.

But on this day the meager snowfall, measuring less than an inch, quickly formed a sheet of glaze ice over all roads in the Triangle. At 1:30 I decided to head out, thinking to get a head start on the inevitable traffic. Unfortunately, every single living being and some zombies from Night of the Living Dead simultaneously reached the same conclusion, creating massive, immediate, and frictionless gridlock. Over the next 6 hours 1000 traffic accidents occurred, nearly all of the slow-motion variety. Those who purchased SUVs under the spell of macho TV ads found that boasting bravado pales before the mighty friction Gods. I watched as four-wheel drives, ten-wheelers and minivans slid off the freeway at the same constant rate of speed, getting great (infinite) gas mileage but performing like clumsy skaters in a mutant Olympics; minus the triple Lutz and double Salchow but featuring, as you might expect, a lot of double Axels.

My trusty 4-cylinder Camry cruised along at 3 MPH, two wheels off the freeway seeking what meager traction there was, just as we were taught in survival training for the Apocalypse. Over the next three hours I had made two miles which meant I could circumnavigate the Earth in just over 11,000 years. While coming up on the coast of Madagascar I noticed that I was, crap, nearly out gas. As luck would have it I was near an off ramp littered with the now silent forms of SUVs, trapped in their own frozen tar pit, testosterone leaking from cracked reptilian hides. I found a station in downtown Raleigh and was soon back in the mix, watching glaciers accelerate past me with mastodons in hot pursuit. I am the walrus, kukukachew.

Five hours out and I was still in gridlock. Is there a kind of reverse light speed limit, where motion may be occurring but below which you cannot move? I began to think I would have to abandon ship and with this very thought came a kind of dread. There was literally no way to get out of Raleigh and home to Chapel Hill. 35 miles is really too far to walk, especially with the temperature at 21 degrees. Like in any good emergency the cell phone grid failed almost immediately making our isolation complete. As the minutes ticked by and the sky grew black, I became excruciatingly aware that things were about to become even worse: I had to go to the bathroom, like now, and in case you hadn’t noticed there are no bathrooms in my car. The Gods of Ignominy — Hershel and Frank — decided to grant me one small favor in the form of an empty plastic coke bottle. And yes for those of you giggling it was the small mouth kind. Glancing around to make sure no sharp-eyed truck drivers had a clear view, I managed to execute this tricky, heretofore untested maneuver; well except for that one time as a college freshman prior to being human. Anyway, thank goodness for the 16 ounce size — 12 ounces would have been, let’s face it, unacceptable. Telling the kids this story later elevates my status in their world to the rank of Gladiator. I may have embellished the part about the lions.

I was at a figurative and literal crossroads. I could take the Wade Avenue cutover and risk that hilly, winding path, or continue to sit in this motorized purgatory. It was 6:00pm when I decided to risk Wade. No cars followed me. I moved silently and alone knowing it was only a matter of time before I ran headlong into a tangled mass of automotive junk. But no, Wade led me directly to I-40 West which was miraculously open and ice-free. I arrived home in 40 minutes, a mere 6 hours and 30 minutes after leaving work to beat the traffic. I considered keeping my bottle as a monument to Hershel and Frank, but decided instead to mark territory several blocks from my house.

Many stories were told over the following days; 10 hours to go 10 miles; kids staying overnight at school; fast food restaurants offering free coffee to the stalled masses, and then running entirely out of coffee and food; the Governor calling the Raleigh emergency management folks to open shelters only to be put on hold — and then disconnected (also known as the Rolling Head Strategy).

Raleigh makes the national news on this one, with northerners deriding the wimpy southerners on their inability to handle an inch of snow. That may be true, but don’t mess with Old Man Friction — He Just Keeps (You From) Rollin’ Along.