Wisconsin's white-knuckle winter

It didn't take me long to remember what it's like here in the winter. My drive home to Whitehall for Christmas was an adventure in treachery. I barely made it halfway the first night before being waylayed by the second blizzard of the season.

That motel room in Portage seemed very comfy after driving four hours in near-impossible conditions. I could've used a Magic Fingers, but was in no position to complain. At least I had a room. When my head hit that pillow I was a goner.

This is what my truck looked like the next morning after I had chipped away the snow to reveal my license plate. Florida! Man, I miss that place. (Click on image for the full brrr-ific effect.)

The chorus to songwriter Larry Crane's "Snow Plow" is more than ringing in my ears. It's my Sermon for the Winter Solstice. These, my friends, are words to live by:

Then old man winter reared his ugly head
And the snow was drifting across the road ahead
He said 'Son don't you worry none just take your time
And stay behind the the snow plow you'll be fine'