According to my neighbor, who came to my aid on Christmas Eve, I am now an official resident. Turns out you aren’t a local until you’ve put your vehicle in the ditch on the Drummond Grade. Hopefully I’m fully indoctrinated and don’t need a repeat performance. The truck is a bit dinged up, I’m a bit shaken, and my dog seemed perfectly happy to be along for the adventure.
There are many places on the Drummond where going off the road could have meant a very different Christmas for my family. Thankfully, we went off in a “good” spot. I hit the bank, spun around, and buried my rear tires in snow deep enough that the truck had no interest in scooting back onto the road.
I had just enough signal to call my husband, but after that, communication dropped to sporadic texts. Meanwhile, he couldn’t get the plow truck to start and had to recruit our neighbor to come to our rescue. (Thank you, again, Jim!)
I was touched, and honestly relieved, that every vehicle that came along stopped to check on me. Everyone was kind. A few even gave me a much-needed laugh, which helped bring my adrenaline back down while we waited.
Now that I am apparently a full-fledged resident, I suppose I should acknowledge the unwritten rules of driving the Drummond in winter, though these rules apply everywhere. Locals will tell you to slow down long before you think you need to and to assume every innocent-looking patch of road is plotting against you. They will also tell you to steer where you want to go, instead of where your panic wants to take you.
Once my husband arrived, he managed to drive the truck out with his out-of-the-ditch driving skills. As he pulled it free, another vehicle came by with flashers on, slowing for caution. Then someone else came flying down the road, swerving around my neighbor’s truck, ours, and the other vehicle at a high speed.
It was scary and I had a brief vision of someone else getting hurt, all because I had made a stupid mistake. Please, slow down, person who may or may not have gotten the bird as they sped away. What the heck.
I didn’t think I was going that fast when disaster struck, but I couldn’t argue with my husband when he said, “If you ended up in the ditch, you were going too fast.”
And since I have now joined the club of people who have inspected the ditch up close, I feel qualified to offer exactly one more piece of ice-driving advice. Slow down. Then slow down again. Then pretend your steering wheel is made of glass and your brakes are made of lies.
If I ever forget these rules, I’m sure the Drummond will be happy to remind me but I’d prefer not to schedule a sequel.
Be safe out there!
