If your first reponse to the words "white out" is correction fluid, you have never driven in Western New York in January.
The mild weather to date had lulled me into complacency. The forecast was for "lake effect," but there was little more than powdered sugar out my window. The roads were clear.
When I needed to take some materials to a suburban vendor I didn't give it another thought. After I finished, I found myself drawn directly to my favorite sub shop which was located just up the road. I didn't worry about parking close to the door, exercise is a good thing. I bought a newspaper from the box outside the door, walked inside and ordered.
Like the cowboy poker players of old, I have to learn to never seat myself with my back to the door, or in this case, front window.
As I got up to empty my tray, all I could see outside was white. I walked right into the covered newspaper box as I worked me way to the car in the wind. I chose my car by general shape and sound of the automatic lock. The blinking lights were snowed over. I quickly brushed off the accummulated inches, started the car, pointed it to the road... and tried to figure out where the road went.
It's funny how you don't appreciate things like highway striping, roadsigns and traffic lights until they disappear. I crawled behind a fishtailing SUV trying to estimate where my upcoming left turn might occur. Within one car length of the traffic light there was a slight break inthe snow band. I found my direction and then struggled again to find the road to which it sent me.
Idling along at 15 m.p.h. I promised my sainted grandmother to learn novenas (or at least what they are). I wondered if any combination of loyalty points and the scant cash in my wallet could get me a room at the airport Holiday Inn I knew had to be coming up on the right. It was rush hour on one of the region's major arteries, but I crawled in leery, stark white isolation. Within a mile the forms of the hotel and then the airport started to appear. Was I developing snow vision or was it a mirage?
I actually breathed during my next left turn.
On the highway back to the city, I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance and police cars well before I approached the accident. Within another few blocks, the wipers came off and the sky reappaered, within a few miles there was pavement.
And those glorious lane lines.
Do you think the county will forward my thank you note to the lane striping guys?

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs