My Season in 12-degree (Fahrenheit) Hell Jan. 28-29

14:00-14:30 - Looked up from work to realize there was 3 inches of snow on the ground. Most of the rest of the staff had already left around noon to create the traffic bottleneck I was surveying from the second floor of office a few blocks off Barrett Parkway. Bumper to bumper in both directions, which, though visibility was extremely limited, was enough to convince me to wait until it had spent itself somewhat.

14:30-15:00 - Some fellow workers who had waited (like me) later than the rest had already attempted to plow their way home, gotten stuck in place for a couple of hours, turned around and come back to the office, resigned to the fact they would spend the night in their cubicles. Manager said to no one in particular, as he arrived back with overnight bag, that "nobody's getting home tonight, might as well just make yourselves comfortable". Was still conflicted at this point, by now was texting/calling wife every 10 minutes to reassess the hopeless situation. She kept saying, "You better get on the road now, and don't take 75-South, go 41". Left office for home. Snow scraped off the windshield & windows with ease, which indicated it wasn't ice yet, just fluffy snow.

15:00-17:00 - Trek from Vaughn Road to Barrett at Cobb Parkway Drive a little slippery, but the nightmare of black ice and dangerous road conditions was not upon me yet, which no doubt contributed to the false sense of hope I had of actually getting home tonight. Still had traction driving slowly over the icy roads that were now blanketed. Turned left out of Barrett Summit and within half a block hit backed up traffic, made so by the small compact rear-wheel-drive cars that were getting stuck in intersections and which were incapable of negotiating the slightest inclines in the road. Thanked my Maker for having the wisdom to purchase a Toyota pickup with front-wheel-drive. U-turn and back up Vaughn Road to Cobb Parkway Drive intersection, where I crept past Carl Black dealership to Barrett. Joined the 100's of other hapless souls stacked up waiting for deliverance. Eastbound to 75 was not as bad as Westbound to 41, so I thought I had made the better choice. An hour to travel one block east on Barrett. Wind and snow storm near height of their fury at this point. At next intersection took an immediate right onto the web of side streets that feed all the apartment complexes you can see from 75 going north around 575 interchange. Discovered they were practically deserted, save for a few abandoned cars that owners left to trudge uphill on foot to their apartments. Parallelled Barrett for about 3 blocks, then merged back into eastbound traffic -- now just 2 blocks from 75, instead of 5. Inched up the entrance ramp to 75 south, always finding myself behind an over sized truck so my ability to see the problems ahead nil.

17:00-19:00 - Once on 75 south, could see Cobb Cty. police cars had blocked off 2 leftmost lanes of southbound traffic, so all of us were scrunched into the rightmost 3 lanes. Flares sputtering every 100 feet to demarcate the Do-Not-Cross line. There we sat, travelling inches per minute (if that). Situation aggravated by 575 southbound traffic merging into 75 south just ahead of where I was. Most frightening of all at this stage were the 18-wheelers -- which you normally think of as the invincible ships of the road that nothing can stop -- helplessly stuck with their middle axles spinning madly in place and not moving at all. Even more frightening was to witness this happening mere feet from my passenger side. What if the driver suddenly gets traction, or doesn't, and jackknifes into me? At this point I saw I had made a tactical error by choosing 75. I gradually over the course of the next three-quarters of a mile eased over to the right side of 75 with the thought of getting off at the 120 loop. Everyone was bunched so close together and the iced-over pavement was so thick, you couldn't see where the lanes began-ended, or where the shoulder of the highway was. People were starting to try to make their own lanes over on the right side. This was increasing frustration by a factor of 10. As I made a lane for myself in an attempt to get to the westbound exit from 75, motorists would swerve out into my path as I approached, I guess to menace me into staying paralyzed along with everyone else. "Back in line, Jack! You're going to suffer just like everybody else!" Crept along in this way until -- miracle! -- I came abreast of the jack-knifed tractor-trailers in the left hand lanes that had caused this backup to start with. At this point there were just a handful of us drivers in the spout of the bottleneck, as it were, suddenly freed and who could see a deserted twilight ghost town on 75 ahead. As we lucky few cleared the wreck site one-by-one, we had the whole of the southbound lanes to ourselves. I picked up speed to maybe 10-15 miles an hour (this was like lightning compared to the previous 2 hours) and began making real progress towards the perimeter and home.

Then, through a momentary lapse in rational thinking I can only attribute to the stress and strain of driving in this natural disaster, I decided I should get OFF 75 and switch over to Marietta Parkway-41 before I hit another logjam on 75 south. This even though I had 75 all to myself (with the exception of a handful of other commuters). Got off at west Marietta Parkway, traveled west to intersection of 41 and turned south onto 41. This put me a few blocks north of Delk Road and after that Dobbins AFB on the right. This was probably my biggest mistake of the night.

19:00-21:00 - Ahead on 41 I could see yet more bumper-to-bumper southbound traffic, but I thought I was better off on surface streets than the bleak wilderness of the interstate. This was where the black-ice menace was starting to really get to drivers. People with no experience driving on ice were flooring their gas pedals, spinning insanely in place, churning up huge clouds of white smoke and burning rubber that was nauseous to inhale and impossible to avoid. Ahead I could see the deserted stretch of 41 with no vehicles on the uphill side, but even that didn't warn me, as I had negotiated the icy roads well already, and ass-u-med I was capable of traveling them. At the bottom of the "Bell Curve" where 41 banks upwards over Delk Road and there's Dobbins on your right, other trucks and cars were struggling to get uphill in an every-man-for-himself situation. One driver had removed his floor mats and was putting them under his back wheels, spinning out while he tried to move forward 1 floor-mat-length at a time. Another driver was putting what looked like a sopping wet dishrag under one wheel, in a vain effort to get traction from that. A self-appointed traffic cop directed me around his stuck vehicle on the left side, which put me in the oncoming lane of northbound 41 traffic, which sat there waiting their opportunity to forge ahead. At this point I became stuck and started spinning in place. The northbound traffic inched forward menacingly, as I was now aggravating a near hopeless situation and blocking their bid for freedom and escape.

Struggling to keep my wits, I made the incremental reverse-inch-forward-reverse-angle-in-a-semicircle movements to get myself turned around and headed back north on 41. As northbound traffic realized my predicament, they moved forward even more aggressively, shooting past me with no concern if we collided.

Eventually I got myself reversed and going back the way I had come, until I got to the other end of the upside "Bell Curve" I had gotten in to start with. This was opposite where Carey's burger joint used to be, and is a used car lot now. As I inched uphill with the other motorists, we all started hitting the icy incline and commenced the spinning-in-place that was the occupational hazard of being in traffic this night. A red Impala in front of me driven by a woman (judging by the ringlets I could see silhouetted in the windshield) got stuck and did the stupid maneuver (much in evidence this night) of simply gunning the accelerator and churning up the now-familiar billows of white smoke and burning rubber that had become the sulfur and brimstone of my private hell. Behind me, a few more road-worthy vehicles like Hummers or Jeeps or heavy pickups with lug tires, were simply jumping the curb on my right, and plowing up the side of 41, irrespective of anything in their paths. Up ahead, beside AutoNation Nissan Marietta on the right, was a stalled CCT bus or big rig, its emergency lights flashing. At this time I noticed the AutoNation Nissan driveway surface was practically untouched and unnoticed. I thought it might be an alternate route to get around the stalled CCT bus, so when I got even with the entrance, I resumed the incremental 1-step-forward-2-steps-back semicircular movements to find traction so I could go through the dealership parking lot. Just before this point, a couple of good Samaritans were standing on the roadside, filling cups from a bag of sand and tossing them on the road in front of us. This gave me some of the sorely needed traction I required to get up the slight incline into the dealership. I moved forward, past the stalled CCT bus now on my left, and came back out onto 41 northbound just ahead of the bus. A Cobb police car was in the driveway ahead of me, the officer outside his vehicle, surveying his back wheels, obviously stuck. I eased around him and back onto 41. At this point I looked behind me and saw that a string of vehicles were taking the exact same detour I had made through the AutoNation Nissan lot.

Back at the intersection of 41 and West Marietta Parkway, having devoured another 2 hours, I turned east and headed back over the largely deserted path to 75 south again. The few emergency vehicles (ambulances, tow trucks, county snow moving equipment) I would see at all tonight were starting to appear. They were little comfort as they were obviously too few in number to handle the disaster we were experiencing. Turning south onto the entrance ramp to 75, I came upon 2 wrecked cars (whether involved in the same wreck or separate ones, I know not) opposite each other on the shoulders. The one on the left shoulder was nosed down the hillside, the passenger door open and a short black-haired woman (Hispanic? Indian?) standing outside holding what looked like an infant wrapped in blankets, waiting to be rescued. Opposite her was another car -- this one with no one in sight -- jackknifed over a ditch, straddling a ravine with no ability at all to get traction and get itself back on the road. I eased past them and came -- once again -- upon an almost completely deserted 75 south, still the "twilight ghost town" I had noted a few hours before. As I and a handful of other drivers had 75 south almost to ourselves, I started making real progress again, full speed ahead to around 20 MPH, speed of light compared to earlier.

21:00-23:00 - As I approached Windy Hill, I could see further down 75, and fanning out to the east and west on 285, the reflected light of all the stalled traffic once it hit the perimeter. Here I reluctantly made the decision to once again exit 75 and take my chances on the surface streets. Yes, even on the Cobb Parkway I had just spent 2 hellish hours on. At the intersection of Windy Hill and 41, I had a clear view all the way down 41 to 285 and beyond. Could see the peaks of Cumberland Mall and Cobb Galleria; could also see that 41 south was completely immobile as it had been further north. Thinking if I simply continued west on Windy Hill through the 41 intersection towards Smyrna, some alternate route would eventually reveal itself and I could make it home tonight. After a couple more blocks going west on Windy Hill, I saw traffic backed up from the intersection of Atlanta and Windy Hill roads. I quickly made one of many illegal maneuvers and did a u-turn on Windy Hill and headed back toward 75. Crossing over 75, I thought I might be able to stay on Windy Hill until it hit Powers Ferry, until I saw eastbound cars stuck on the other side of the overpass. I realized continuing in that direction was another "Bell Curve" that would dip precipitously downward and then bank up in a fatal 45-or-steeper-degree hill that I would never be able to negotiate, so I made a U-turn in the middle of the overpass and headed back toward 41 -- again. I made the U-turn right in front of a Cobb Cty. police car, but no one was handing out tickets tonight. At the next red light I made a U-turn back to the overpass, past Circle 75 Parkway (which I immediately saw was lined with cars on both shoulders and sloping downward way too steeply to even entertain taking).

Just before I crossed the Windy Hill overpass for the third time I saw an entrance ramp to 75 south, however it was not merging into the lit-up traffic jam I had seen earlier. It was dark, not being used at all, almost as if the rest of humanity had forgotten it was there. I overcame my fear of the unknown and reliance on "safety-in-numbers-take-the-same-route-everybody-else-is", and dove down the entrance ramp. It parallelled the stalled traffic I could see beside me. Up ahead were splits to take you 285 east or west, depending on your destination. I knew 285 in both directions was a parking lot, so I continued straight ahead on the ramp in the direction of 75 south. Before I saw another vehicle anywhere I spied the exit for Cumberland Boulevard at Cobb Energy Center. Great! Cumberland to Akers Mill was fairly level surface streets and apparently had not been discovered yet. I crept down Cumberland Blvd. and turned onto Akers Mill without incident, passing dozens of abandoned cars on both side of the 4-lane. Once on Akers Mill, I encountered more abandoned vehicles and knots of people who obviously lived in the apartment complexes that ring 75-285 coming and going. Just before the 3-way intersection at Powers Ferry and Akers Mills was the steep downward slope that vehicles ahead of me were already losing traction on. Westbound vehicles on Akers Mill were simply ramping up onto the shoulder and bypassing the stalls; on my side, a girl in a small hatchback was stuck on the shoulder headed in the same direction as me. As I attempted to drive around her, my truck started spinning in place. I stopped and tried to back up but the truck started sliding on its own, irresponsive of what way I turned the wheel. If I made another maneuver I feared sliding into the "girl-in-the-hatchback-stalled-on-the-shoulder", so I just sat there, immobile, neither one of us daring to move. Eventually she made the life-saving decision (for me) to make a u-turn and head back on Akers Mill towards Cobb Galleria. With any risk of hitting her out of the picture, I forged ahead on Akers Mill, now a mere 3 miles from home, give or take. After going through the light at Powers Ferry, the traffic was stalled as far as I could see, inching forward -- if at all -- at the going rate of about 1 mile per hour.

I was texting family almost continuously on this stretch -- "I'm almost to Chattahoochee", "I'm over the Hootch", "I'm next to Ray's On The River", "I'm beside Peter Chang's" -- until I got within a block of the intersection at Northside Drive and Akers Mill. A couple of local guys were letting drivers through one at a time to make the stretch from Peter Chang's to the red light, another slight incline of 30 degrees maybe, but on this night might as well have been scaling Kilimanjaro. As I was cleared for "take-off", I inched up the hill without sliding much. At the intersection (Brueggers Bagels on the right, Exxon on the left), an older guy was playing crossing guard and helping people across the street. As I pulled even with him, he slipped and fell on the icy road next to my car, knocked out cold (and I emphasize COLD as he was laid out on the road like a cadaver on a slab at the morgue). Pedestrians and bypassers rushed to his aid, while I ambled on through the intersection, the thrill of victory like nectar in my mouth as I saw my destination was almost within reach.

23:00-01:00 - Bumper to bumper up Akers Mill (the home stretch as it were), on the right I passed the shuttered Wendy's, then the 75-degree entrance driveway to Publix. This was probably the most tortuous stretch of road the entire evening, because home and hearth were so close for so many of us, and people were starting to just lose it. If you hesitated at all in negotiating the icy road conditions, an irate driver behind you would blow his horn and zoom past you, oblivious to the oncoming traffic and anyone else's welfare. Past the intersection of Dupree and Akers, it started getting ugly. [An example: the most obscene looking gold Cadillac SUV roared past everyone on the left side up Akers Mills, convinced that he had the right to get in front of everyone. As the rest of us made our way to the high ground, eventually we saw one vehicle, stuck in front of everyone spinning out and unable to get any traction but holding up everything: the Cadillac SUV, 'natch.] All night anchors had been entreating people to leave some space between vehicles, but now cars and SUV's were sitting on your bumper, so once you got stuck and needed room to maneuver, you couldn't go backwards to get traction, and forward was only spinning out. The Sandy Springs Fire Marshal's red SUV was parked up ahead on the shoulder, I guess trying to give the appearance of doing something, but no one was paying attention to authority. 2 good old boys were giving random vehicles a heave-ho, but as we neared the 3-way stop at Heards Ferry and Akers Mill, just below HIES FAB, it became obvious that the westbound traffic on Akers streaming past all us eastbound travellers were vehicles that couldn't make it the last bit up Akers. One of the good old boys told me they had spread out some pine straw on the sidewalk on the right hand side of Akers, and a couple of 4-wheel drive vehicles were jumping the curb, churning up the sidewalk to Heards Ferry and beyond. As we stood there, making the best of the situation, another maniac -- this time in a dark SUV, maybe a Jeep Cherokee -- bulled past everyone else going up Akers Mills towards certain defeat. Even in almost pitch darkness you could see the front and sides of the SUV were badly dented and mangled. One of the good old boys shook his head and said, "Man, he's been slamming into cars all the way up the road tonight. I mean, he's just destroyed his car trying to get through!" What about the drivers he's slamming into and damaging for no reason, I thought?

Turning back to the matter at hand, he said, "If you can get up on the sidewalk and get past all these struck cars, you're home free!" His confrere said, good-naturedly, "Better get a set of those knobby tires 'fore next year!"

My heart sank as I realized I could not get the traction to get off the road onto the sidewalk, so I made the bitter decision to reverse myself and go back towards Powers Ferry and the Wyndham Hotel.

Back down the hill I came to the empty building that used to house Shorter University on the right, and decided I would leave my truck parked there as the lot was mostly deserted but very well-lit, and go the rest of the way to downtown Sandy Springs on foot. I parked a couple of spaces over from another truck, where I could see the driver had simply let his seat back and was going to make a night of it right there. I backed into a space under a bright lamp and got out, only to realize that I was not dressed warmly enough to survive walking to my house. At this point I capitulated and decided to go to the Wyndham hotel lobby, which I already knew had no vacancy, but maybe there was a warm square of carpeting reserved for me. I turned onto Northside Drive and then into the joined parking lots of Powers Ferry Animal Hospital and Wells Fargo branch. Circled a couple of times until I found a stretch of curb in the WF lot where I thought I might park and not get sideswiped, a major concern now that every available parking space was double-triple-quadruple parked. 

01:00-06:30 - Having wedged my truck into the Wells Fargo branch lot -- where I noted as elsewhere every handicap parking space remained unoccupied -- I weaved amongst the bumper-to-bumper-4-lanes-northbound traffic on New Northside Drive to 285-E entrance and beyond, over the Wyndham hotel parking lot. Any other time this would have been a life-threatening act, but no one was moving. I had been-there-done-that already for the last 9+ hours: waiting patiently for the car in front of me to inch forward one centimeter, to sustain my hope that I would make it home safe and sound and be able to tell myself that this night had really never happened. As dismal and inhospitable as the Wyndham lobby floor appeared, I couldn't bear the thought of sitting in my truck another 10 hours like these maniacally driven motorists. At this point I didn't care where I stayed and with whom, I had to get indoors.

I must say the Wyndham hotel staff were unfailingly polite and accommodating to the probably 200+ stranded drivers who descended on their lobby with "no more room at the inn", so to speak. I saw every chair, sofa, credenza, roundelay and divan already occupied, with wall-and-floor space (against which to lean one's back) filling up rapidly. Although a spent force by this time, I still made a round of the lobby into the side hallways leading to the meeting rooms -- all of which were fully occupied with people stretched out on meeting tables, under tables and on the carpeted floor, as even that was preferable to the marble hallway that bisected the ground floor. The glass doors to the pool area had been propped open (normally only admissible via room key-card) and all the deck and lawn chairs spoken for. I finally made my way to the hotel bar, where people were sitting on bar stools, slumped over sound asleep on the counter -- tho' not from too much boozing this time. Same for the high topped pub tables, and couches. Despite this, there were still dozens of people just milling around the lobby level all night. Too restless to sleep (or staying awake fortified by God knows what additives) walking endlessly around the ground floor. I settled into a corner of the landing where the bank of elevators were ferrying the few lucky souls who had fluffy beds, locked doors, privacy and temperature control to greet them on the upper levels. My bed for the night was a 2-foot-square patch of marble floor between a potted fake plant and a sandwich board advertising the "best entertainment, food and ambiance" to be found in metro Atlanta, natch.

It was here, propped up on one side by a roughly 20-gallon urn topped off with fake moss, that I drifted in and out of sleep deprivation sitting cross-legged (until the cumulative paralysis of this position forced me to shift into an accordion-like human ball for scant more comfort) for the next 4-5 hours. Every hour give or take, I would wake from a painfully cramped nap to check the time, hope always dashed that it was never later than I thought it would be.

I also have to single out the weather witch on the Fox channel who was positively gloating every 10-15 minutes as she warned people to "stay at home, don't get out in this weather if you don't have to", oblivious to the fact -- or else relishing it supremely -- that 100's of 1000's of us were nothing of the kind and this belated advice was pointless. I must say all the Atlanta anchors -- even the live reporters out in the melee at the worst intersections and traffic stalls and wrecks -- were positively beaming with the certain knowledge that when their shift was over, they would be whisked away to a nice warm bed and the comfort of home. As if that weren't bad enough, the Fox weather witch went to great lengths over the course of the next 5 hours to remind everyone of us that it was meteorologically impossible for the weather to get warm enough to melt any of the icy roads for at least another 24 hours, the implication being "wherever you saps are at the moment, that's where you're going to be stuck for the next 36 hours at least!" She did throw out the teasingly tantalizing false hope that there might be a 1-2 hour window mid-afternoon today, Wednesday the 29th, when it might, just might warm up enough to give us poor souls a small window of opportunity to hit the road again and make it home.

At this point, the ones who weren't stretched out on the floor or curled up in a chair sound asleep, really began to resemble the walking dead. One older white-haired guy wandered pathetically around the ground floor looking for his car keys that he had somehow mislaid, allowed out of his sight. I had kept my car keys, wallet and half-consumed jug of Power-Ade buttoned down secreted inside my jacket, as though I were an inmate in communal quarters at Fort Leavenworth or some other maximum-security facility even worse.

I began to move around at 06:30 trying to stay in motion, although I was so whipped from the last 15 hours, that I occasionally slumped into a folding chair -- which actually were starting to free up from the occupants the night before who had gotten some sleep and were up-and-about. This didn't work any better than the floor space next to the elevator bank, because these seats were situated in the long curved breezeway (and I emphasize breezeway) that bisected the lobby. At both ends of this corridor were double glass doors that -- by law -- had to remain unlocked at all times. Because of that, they were constantly being opened and closed, and allowing icy blasts of outside air to careen through the hallway, bounce off the walls, down the corridors of time over, under, around and through us.

Like the walking dead, I had my fill of this very quickly and drifted back toward the hotel bar, which was carpeted and easily the most densely populated area because of the big-screen TV that many clung to as survivors to a life raft, aching for some -- any! -- good news from the talking heads.

Unable to sleep under these conditions, I found a group of friendly talkative older people sitting on bar stools, trying to make the best of the situation and comparing notes. Sitting in the straight back bar stool also helped me stay awake, since sleep in the icy corridor was impossible. I started thinking things like, "I wonder if this is what political prisoners in Guantanamo Bay -- and various other rendition centers the US maintains around the world -- are subjected to in order to get them to 'confess' to the terrorist acts the military-industrial-security state can't live without?"

One interlocutor, a self-confessed retired cop from Kentucky who was passing through town on his way to Louisiana when fate struck, told me of the numerous back surgeries for fused disks he had had over the years, and how the Percodan-10 painkillers he was popping like M-and-M's weren't helping a bit. We commiserated some more, until he said he had to get moving again as the pain was too great sitting upright....and lumbered away like the walking dead we had all come to resemble. 

06:30 - 11:00 - I quizzed a lady from our group who had left briefly to check on her car, parked across the street like mine, and assess the desirability of leaving the safety of the Wyndham to risk a shot at getting home. Another member of our impromptu entourage -- short stocky guy in a baseball cap walking with a cane -- chimed in that "Nobody's going anywhere today in this weather. Might as well just enjoy it while you can, least 'til mid-afternoon!" Obviously he had taken the Fox weather witch's pep talk at face value that all hope of escape today was hopeless. No thanks, buddy, I don't get my marching orders from the big networks, and certainly not at second- or third-hand.

The general manager was much in evidence this morning, pledging to get the heat turned up in the back of the lobby where I had spent the night, setting up the hotel restaurant to handle the sudden influx of 200+ visitors for breakfast. When it was announced that they were ready on a first-come-first-served basis, the line to get seated stretched from the hostess's station, through the bar and out into the elevator lobby in seconds. They had already wheeled out 2 big urns of Starbucks coffee and set it up in the lobby for free. I must say, they really did take the "hospitality" in their industry name seriously for a bunch of us what-amounted-to freeloaders looking for a warm spot to crash a few hours.   

After engaging in some primitive ablutions in the rank-smelling-and-now-depleted-of-any-paper-products men's room, I decided to go next door to the Waffle House (God bless their "we're-always-open-we-never-close" hearts) for a lumberjack breakfast, suddenly aware I had not eaten in close to 24 hours. Exitting the double-glass doors at one end, and issuing an icy blast of my own into the lobby, I took cautious steps across the sidewalk in the direction of the WH, passing 2 hirsute robust guys enjoying the outdoors. As I passed them I suddenly came upon my second witnessing of an injury, paramedics loading what appeared to be an older white guy strapped to a gurney into the back of a flashing ambulance. I saw next to this the pathetic pile of possessions the guy had apparently been ferrying across the lot to his car, when he slipped and fell. 

I weaved and bobbed my way past the ambulance, steadying myself on car door handles, railings, bumpers and trunks. Glancing through the windows to the packed SRO inside of the WH, I imagined customers making odds if I would get to the restaurant without injuring myself, or coming a cropper on the ice. 

I made it indoors where a single diner was vacating the first counter seat nearest the door, just in time for me to occupy it. The WH staff was rocking, full-tilt boogie with all the business, doing what they do best in exactly this situation: wall-to-wall people placing orders, serving up coffee, refills and plates in short order. My waitress was positively beaming with efficiency as she took my order and set it out in near-record time minutes later. The ponytailed, baseball-capped head chef was grumbling about something. The guy next to me asked our waitress what was eating him. "Aww, don't mind him, he's just done 3 shifts back to back." Well, no wonder. 

Amazingly revitalized by the WH infusion, I downed a refill of coffee and left her a 75% tip (just for working on a day like this). Walking back across the WH parking lot and up the sidewalk beside the Wyndham, wondering when I would be delivered from this purgatory, I suddenly became aware of a phenomenon I had ignored since coming outside: water dripping off the soffits, tailpipes and overhangs. "I'm melting!" I continued past the front of the hotel, choosing my steps carefully but also noting the slushy ice and mud that was definitely starting to break up.  

Didn't look back as I crossed the still deserted street, started my truck (miraculously unscathed & undamaged, although most of the surrounding vehicles had already departed from night before) and edged my way out onto New Northside Drive. Looking right, I had the entrance ramp to 285 East, but opted instead to turn left (illegally) and travel the wrong way down the one-way New N'side Drive to the intersection with Akers Mill. A Sandy Springs cop car waited at the light eastbound on Akers Mill, but paid me no mind as I turned in front of him. 

Once again I began to retrace my steps up the last stretch of Akers Mill from the night-marish night before. Nearing the 3-way intersection of Akers & Dupree, traffic started to stall again as drivers hit the still-extant ice patches and began spinning out. I found myself in a now-familiar situation where I needed to roll back slightly and angle my tires for better traction, but a small compact was right on my bumper, so I sat in place, stagnated. A young couple was walking west down the sidewalk past the office park where I wanted to pull in, circle and perhaps get a good running start for negotiating the last stretch of Akers. 

I waited patiently for the couple to cross in front of me, and they must have appreciated my consideration, because once they had crossed, they both put their shoulders to the back of my truck on either side and gave me an encouraging push....enough to get me going again. 

Finally attaining the 3-way stop at Akers & Raiders Drive, I chose to go right, which would take me past the HIES FAB. What had seemed a "walk in the park" any other time of the year, today was a geographic, mechanical, physical and logistical impossibility, as the drive up Powers Ferry suddenly became more daunting, forbidding and altitudinally impassible than ever. After spinning out a few turns, I inched back down the hill, into a private drive, turned around and headed the other way down Raiders Drive towards Riverwood High. Crossing the 285 overpass, I congratulated myself on another of the few good judgment calls I made as traffic stretched bumper-to-bumper on 285 in both directions. 

At Raiders & Heards Ferry (with Riverwood on my left), turned right onto Heards Ferry for what now realistically seemed the home stretch. Abandoned cars from the night before dotted the trek up Heards Ferry, such that those few of us on the road had to weave from left to right slowly up the road to the light at Riverside Drive. We were grateful for the occasional patches of hay some residents had thought to throw on the street, more bales sitting by the roadside, at the ready. 

At this stage, the sun was out, ice visibly melting, and Sandy Springs finest patrolling the stretches closest to downtown. East of Riverside Drive on Heards Ferry I hit another icy patch and stalled. Impatient exasperated motorists zoomed past me as I took my time to get repositioned for the final shove home.

I got good momentum and was cruising up to and (I hoped) through the 3-way light at Mt. Vernon and Heards Ferry, when the light caught me again. I found myself stopped on one of those slight inclines that had been anathema to vehicles like mine over the last 24 hours, but when the light changed, miraculously I didn't spin out and just eased through the green light and onto Mt. Vernon, mere steps from downtown. 

Past Arlington Cemetery, ironically still among the living, I was home within minutes, feeling like Odysseus of yore.