Newsflash: my essay “Pinging the Gods” is in the current issue of Witches and Pagans.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled post:

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from the January 2012 residency

Following my move to Portland, I was now within driving distance of Whidbey Island – some three to four hours depending on traffic and the ferry.  The drive up was beautiful once I got past some morning fog, and I spent a large part of my journey enjoying the scenery and singing along with The Corries.

The drive back, however, was another matter.  We had had rain and snow up on Whidbey – the snow was unusual during a January residency – and the forecast hinted that I might face more on my way down through Washington and into Oregon.  Experienced Northwesterners might have laughed at this, but I’m from the Bay Area.  My only snow driving experience had been fourteen years ago, in Beaverton, when I’d driven about two miles in very light snowfall with no ice.  Snow chains are something I’ve heard of but never seen, much less used.

Further, I was due to leave at the end of a day of classes, which meant I got to add night driving to the joy.  I could have found a place to stay for the night, but the next day was my birthday.  My previous two birthdays had been at residencies, and I wanted to wake up on my birthday next to my wife!

After the last class and requisite goodbyes, I was on my way with Chels in the back seat and Yi Shun riding shotgun.  The first part of the drive went easily enough.  We stayed ahead of the weather as we crossed Whidbey Island, and timed our arrival at the Mukilteo Ferry almost perfectly.  We reached Seattle via clear freeway, and found a bar and grill where we could have dinner and meet Chels’ friends.  Parking on side streets was a minor adventure – standing snow and ice do not make for easy parallel parking.  I parked semi-legally on a corner some two blocks from the restaurant.

After dinner, Chels’s friends picked her up and I dropped Yi Shun off at Sea-Tac.  I got back on the freeway and hoped to see the inside of my garage by ten o’clock.  I even had a shot at making it home in time for the Colbert Report.  The road was a little wet, but all was well.

Fog pounced on me like a leopard from the trees.  The sides of the road vanished, hidden behind a curtain of gray-white.  The truck in the distance evaporated.  My world shrank to a sixty-foot circle that might change without warning.  My foot came off the gas of its own volition, but I didn’t correct it.  Sixty . . . fifty . . . forty miles per hour and there I drew the line.  Slower was safer, but I wanted to get home before dawn.

A sports car zipped past me.  Taillights to follow!  Soon I was back to near the speed limit, but refused to be lured into matching speeds with those blurry red dots.

Just as well, really, because that was when I hit the patch of ice.  Fun fact: icy conditions are most dangerous near the freezing point.  I learned that from the Oregon driver’s manual, which I wish I’d read before that drive home because the temperature was between twenty-eight and thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit the whole way.

Sliding on ice feels remarkably like hydroplaning.  Your hands try to merge with the steering wheel.  Your eyes open so wide you can taste your eyelashes.  Your skin tries to claw past your muscles and tuck itself inside, for safety.  There is one difference between ice and hydroplaning, though – a patch of ice takes about ten years to cross.  Or maybe that’s just me.

My foot yanked itself off the gas pedal again.  Good thing it was thinking clearly, because the rest of me froze.  I didn’t even breathe until I reached the other side, puffing out thanks to any gods who might be listening that I had been on a straightaway with no other cars nearby.

The fog, having accomplished its goal, soon retreated and I was back to freeway speeds.  The fog was not done with me that night, but I did make it home intact sometime around eleven-thirty.

Please feel free to share questions, comments, and anecdotes of your own below.

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Submissions Update: Since I last posted, I have sent a novel synopsis and three chapters to an agent.

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