Chains of Doom
Friday morning I woke up early in Redding and loaded up all of my gear (I should play fewer instruments/and/or get a band to tour with me and help me carry stuff). I could tell that a storm had moved in overnight, in alignment with my sister’s predictions. I had picked up some chains for my tires in Sacramento for my drive to Portland, but was still hoping I wouldn’t have to use them… (click ‘view original post’ if you’re on facebook).
Unfortunately, almost as soon as I began my ascent into the pass it began to snow heavily. Large clumps of snow pelted my windscreen and began to stick to my wipers. I hoped feebly that it wouldn’t stick and that I could still avoid the daunting task of putting chains on my tires. Anxiety started to tighten its fist around my insides as I saw cars pull off of the road. I knew there was no escaping it– I would have to put chains on and drive on through. I pulled onto the stretch of shoulder designated for chain installation and gritted my teeth.
It was actually easy enough to install the chains, but the 33 degree windy weather made the whole thing quite miserable. Resentment is definitely a sin, so I won’t tell you how much I resented Travis for flaking out on the tour at that moment. By the time I had installed the chains, my favorite white sweater was now my favorite brown sweater, but this did not dim my feeling of triumph. Chains properly installed, I psyched myself out for my very first drive through the snow. I did a little Rocky Balboa jog and jab and hopped into my car, Spartacus.
After driving slowly for a mile, I checked my chains and readjusted the rubber rings that held the chains tightly to my tires. Everything seemed fine, so I pulled back out into traffic. As we climbed the amount of snow on the road increased. As the amount of snow increased, the tightness of my grip on the wheel increased exponentially. I took 1 Thes. 5 to heart and prayed without ceasing that I would make it through the pass unscathed.
About ten minutes later I heard a strange sound and noticed that the chains had started to make a different noise. Exiting the freeway seemed safer than pausing on the shoulder, so I pulled off and checked my left front chain. The rubber ring that was supposed to hold the chain to my tire had escaped its bonds and disappeared into the snowy abyss. Awesome, I thought. What am I going to do? I don’t have any bungees… I’m not sure where my pliers are… Dang! This is such a drag. What can I use?
I rummaged around in my car and decided I could spare the belt from my brown dress. Extracting it from my suitcase, I experimented with ways to tie it to my chain and managed to MacGyver my chain to my tire. Yes, that’s a verb now. Extremely self-satisfied, I headed back to the freeway to conquer the pass. A few minutes later I heard the other ring pop off of the right front chain. Well, I don’t really have anything else to use and I don’t particularly want to sacrifice any more of my clothing… I guess I’ll just chance it. I pulled over to check it all the same, then continued on.
About ten white-knuckled minutes later I saw a truck about 3 cars ahead of me swerve off of the road into a tree. I’m going to die. I panicked. I took the next exit and slid around the bend into a gas station where I prayed for five minutes, pondered my options, and decided to just get it done. If I got a hotel room in the area there would be no telling when I would be able to leave. Man-up, Gayle! You can do this. You can do this!! I felt like Tommy Boy before a sale…
Bravely I headed back to the freeway. A new sound caught my ears– that of my chains starting to shred as I drove at my snail’s pace. It was ridiculous… I was sure I was going to pop a tire or crash my car or both. I stopped at yet another gas station and took a few photos and tried to calm down. I texted my friends that I knew I could count on to pray for me and then continued my journey north.
Finally, after two harrowing hours, I made it through the pass and past the snow. When I pulled off of the freeway to remove my chains, I discovered that the front left chain had been so mangled that it was irrevocably attached to my tire. Unable to budge this piece of junk, I made another search through my car for my pliers. Remaining unsuccessful in this endeavor, I weighed my options. I could sit there in the now 32 degree weather and put my flashers on and hope for help, I could keep going with the chain on my tire (I had no idea how fast one should drive with chains on), I could call Triple A, or I could just panic and go crazy. I was so stressed out from my morning of danger that I couldn’t decide what to do. Finally I just pulled out onto the road. A half a minute of driving told me that this was a terrible plan. I pulled back over and tried again to remove the chain. I even pulled out my pocket knife and tried to cut it… which I knew would not work before I tried it, but hey!
In my state of anxiety I decided to just ignore the sound of the chain beating my car to a pulp and just hope and pray that it wouldn’t pop my tire. I drove back onto the freeway and about thirty seconds later I heard a big POP and saw a tire fly up over my windscreen. CRAP! I can’t believe this!!! Oh Lord, nooooooo!! Why? Why me? WAAaah!
For the billionth time I pulled onto the shoulder. I cried about three tears and then just sat stupidly for about five minutes. Finally I picked up my phone and called Triple A to come rescue me and change my tire. After seven minutes of trying to figure out where I was, being told that Weed was not on the map, and wigging out a bit more, I was transferred to the northern CA department. This woman knew where Weed was, but had no idea where I was. Neither did I. We went through all of the places I might have passed and figured out roughly my location. I had not been paying attention to landmarks because I was so afraid of blowing a tire.
The woman who was helping me asked if I had my spare. I replied that I was unsure and she asked me to check and see… This was the last thing I wanted to do. I had absolutely no desire to get back out into the freezing wind but I had no choice. I got out of my car and asked her to hold for a moment while I unpacked all of my instruments and other gear to get to my spare. I pulled a bag out of my trunk, reached around to put it in my back seat, and stopped short—–
It’s not often that you really and truly don’t believe your eyes… but I looked and doubted.
There, still securely attached to my rim, still full of air and fully intact, was the tire I had supposedly blown!!!!!
“Um… this is going to sound really dumb,” I said slowly, “but I didn’t actually blow my tire.” Then I burst out into hysterical laughter.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” she replied, rightfully confused.
“I’m really sorry, but I didn’t even bother to check my tire when I pulled over because I saw a tread fly past my window. I didn’t blow a tire. Um, thanks anyway! Have a great day!”
I hung up howled with laughter. I laughed until I cried, and then I cried a little from the stress of it all and how grateful I was that I wouldn’t have to wait for hours in the cold and miss my Portland show. My sister Laura called and we laughed some more. Then I called my friend VJ and we laughed even harder… especially when he said that I should have asked to be transferred to the psychiatry department… and then again when I said that I should have asked if they covered mental breakdowns.
I made it all the way to Portland for my Camellia Lounge show and regaled my friends with tales of my adventures… and drank a few hot toddies to celebrate my non-blown tire. .. and that was my first adventure of driving in the snow.