Author: Chris Dunn
Out of the thick fog of sheets of falling snow, an ominous
shape emerges. At first glance it appears very like a building, though that’s
impossible. There aren’t typically buildings constructed in the stretch between
east and west-bound highways, but the large gray rectangle emerging couldn’t be
much els- Oh! It’s a semi-trailer on its side! That makes more sense given the
blizzard raging all around me. Silently I wish anyone in the capsized trailer
well, re-clamp my hands to the steering wheel and push on into the grayness.
Chasing the approaching millennium, there is no GPS to tell
me where I am, how much further I must go. We navigate by signs in this day,
and most of those are obscured by falling or caked-on snow and ice. Tony holds
the map and wakes briefly at my urging to assure me we’re not close enough to
worry yet. I tell him about the semi, but he simply shrugs and nods off again.
Snores come from the back as well. Screwing my gumption past adhesion, I drive
on repeating my internal mantra. “The road is straight. My hands are locked in
place. As long as I don’t flinch, we’ll arrive safely.”
December 31, 1999, my roommates and I have gathered all the
makings for the party Prince had spent 18 years preparing us for. We had
acquired the necessary trip materials, as well as hydration supplies, gum to
keep our jaws from locking up, and loaded my 25 CD changer with all our
favorites. It was go time for this annual tradition. Only one thing was
missing, Kit.
As we prepped The Pit – the semi-ironic name we had given to
our shared abode – for the party, Dennis, Tony, Tonya and myself waited expectantly
for Kit’s arrival. Kit was returning from a visit to the west coast, but had
assured us, that he could – and would – make it back in time for the year 2000.
Y2K be damned! I was cleaning my room and setting up a cozy environment option,
with music and throw pillows, a black-light poster here or there, everything
set for when the drugs took hold and wander lust set in, when the call came in.
Kit had been giving us updates as he came east, each one
bleaker than the one before it. Snow getting thicker, driving slowing down,
roads closed. Still, I never had a doubt. We’d been carrying on the tradition
for years at that point, Kit would make it, coasting in at the wire in a hail
of confetti to a thunderous blare of trumpets. I heard the phone ring, but it
was probably just another update, this one telling us all was clear and to
expect him sooner than previously feared. But it wasn’t… Tonya called me down
to where the three of them sat gathered around the cradled house phone,
dejected looks crushing their once expectant joy.
“He’s not going to make it,” Tonya said.
I stared mute and dumbfounded.
“Yeah,” Tony explained. “His car died on the highway. He had
to get a tow to a service station and now he’s looking for a hotel to stay in.
They won’t even start on the repairs until after the holiday.”
What?! This made no sense. My expression must have said as
such, because Dennis tried to console me with a sympathetic look and a shrug
conveying, “Yes, this is happening, but whatareyougonnado?” Slowly I sank down
beside my dejected band. All the preparations we had made, all the drugs
waiting to be consumed, all the synesthetic amusements poised in potentiality –
it was all a waste without Kit. I mean sure, we were still going to party, but
it wouldn’t really be “like it was 1999” without Kit.
“Where is he?” Tonya asked suddenly.
“He just barely made it into Iowa,” Tony answered.
“Well how far is that?”
I saw where she was going, but it only seemed feasible as a
mad, hail Mary gesture, one we could say we looked into but abandoned when we
realized…. Whatever would come along to derail the mad train of thought. He was
in Walnut, Iowa. Walnut, Iowa was 10 hours away and it wasn’t even noon. Time
wasn’t a factor. Scarlet, my car, was fresh out of the shop and more than
capable of carrying our squad and a trunkful of party gear across three states.
And the blizzard? Well, it would likely peter out before we got to it, and if
not, I was the son of Snow Dog, my New England born father. I could drive
through a little snow. All the pieces fell together! We called Kit back at the
number he had given. “We’re coming to you!”
It is said, that anything worth doing is worth overdoing, so
we loaded up the trunk with twenty-four bottles of Gatorade, a half dozen black-light
posters, a case of nitrous oxide with proper dispensers, an ounce of marijuana,
two bongs, five hits of acid, a 25-CD changer, ALL of our CDs, a bag of blow
pops, glow sticks and various other party favors people had picked to add
festivity to the evening. We hit the road at 2 o’clock aware that we were
behind schedule, but confident in the way of providence that we would make up
time somewhere on the road.
Three states doesn’t sound like a lot, not when Ohio goes by
in twenty-five minutes. Even crossing Indiana and Illinois did nothing to blunt
our confidence. We ate drive-thru in the car and made sure everyone drained
their bladders when we filled the tank. We were going to make it. Let me point
out now, for any who might seek to emulate this feat, Iowa is loooonnnggg. The founding
fathers who sketched out Rhode Island and Delaware must have gotten pretty lazy
when it came time to carving states out of the Louisiana Purchase, because they
get big out west.
Two hours into Iowa – we’re not even half way – and the
storm line hits us. This isn’t some chicken little white death forecast made to
drive up sales of bread and milk. This is a for real, whiteout line of giant,
sticky flakes. Only the highway, with the constant drum of tires can maintain
two ruts in which to drive. Every gas up becomes a well-can-we-get-back-on
adventure, and murmurings of mutiny and abandonment begin to flitter around the
edges of our former optimism.
But there’s no turning back. We’re ten hours in and the
storm is blowing the direction we would return. Tony offers to drive. Taking
turns had been the plan at the outset, but I wasn’t about to abandon the wheel
at this late hour. As tired as I was after ten solid hours of driving, I wouldn’t
trust the freshest eyes to pilot my Scarlet through what lay ahead.
Scarlet was a 1992 Nissan Sentra with a 4-speed, manual
transmission and what the dealer had called power “assist” steering. She had no
bells and whistles, no extra candy to make her fine, but what she had was a
never-say-die engine and four tires. I knew if I could keep her straight, we’d
make it. Make it was the only goal left. Even the time difference hadn’t saved
us from missing the millennium. It passed somewhere in early Iowa for EST and
central Iowa for CST. We cheered in our seats for each one, as much to mark the
moment as to reaffirm we were still alive and still on the run.
“Oh, my god,” I heard Tonya say from the back seat. She must
have awakened to see the glut of abandoned cars huddled on the shoulder like
they were seeking warmth from each other.
“That’s nothing,” I called back. “You should see the semis!”
“We should stop,” she said. It was the first time any of us
had stated it clearly and succinctly without question or equivocation. But as
final and certain as it felt, there was nothing doing.
“We’re almost there,” I lied.
At this point, everyone was up. The land outside the window
was a constant barrage of white. They set their wills to my support, I set my
wheels to the clear ruts in the snow. When I could find them. Every time the
car would hydroplane, I would hold my breath and think straight thoughts.
“Did we just skid?” someone would ask.
“No, we’re fine.”
And we were. Despite all obstacles and logic, we pulled into
a motel parking lot in Walnut Iowa around 2 am local time. The plants and cars were
coated in translucent, ice armor, and the hotel staff was certainly shocked to
see us. Well, they thought they were shocked, at least. When we proceeded with
our pre-party load-in, they learned a truer definition of the word.
Kit didn’t know what to say. We wound up staying for 3 days.
It was a party for the ages. Prince would’ve been proud. I remember my head
clearing long enough at one point to make out the Rose Bowl parade playing on
the hotel TV. Turning to my left, I saw Kit watching me with a stupid grin on
his face.
“Where are we?” I asked him.
“Walnut, Iowa,” He declared heavily, as if not for the first
time.
“And, why are we here?” I follow up, still heavy with
confusion.
“I honestly have no idea.”
Prince WAS proud
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