Just Write 98 ~ No fear

I don’t have many fears, but this weekend, I faced two big ones — driving in a whiteout and walking on a frozen lake — the former was unintentional, the latter planned.

I used to be a quite nervous about driving in the winter, which is a really bad thing to be when you live in THE snowiest city in the U.S. (Yep, so the rest of you can just shut it).

But then I got 4-wheel drive (cue the angels singing) and a husband who taught me to be a more confident winter driver: A little fishtailing is OK. Oversteering will put you in a spin; let go of the wheel. Use a low gear to get traction on a hill.

My winter driving skills have come a long way, but I still refused to drive the girls to ski lessons on Saturdays. The winding, hilly back country (dirt) roads we have to take to get to the lodge are mildly frightening on a summer day and downright scary in winter.

But we’re in the middle of a kitchen renovation that I really want done and because Dan’s doing all the work and wasting a half a day in a ski lodge because his wife is a sissy is stupid, I sucked it up and drove the girls solo last week. It went fine, so I  offered to go it alone again this week.

It began to snow heavily while the girls were skiing and the wind kicked up.

Dan texted me a photo of turkeys the dog had chased into the trees during a walk in the trails out back at home.

I texted back my concerns about the weather and the drive home.

“You’ll be fine, just drive slow,” he said. Then he sent me a picture of some icicles at the creek.

I texted back, “We may die.”

A tad dramatic? Perhaps, but the drive home did turn out to be a white-knuckled, hunched-shoulders, radio-off, no-talking-in-the-car, please-stop-this-God trip. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of us. The only way I kept us on the road was by watching the tree line on either side and keeping the car centered between the two.

I was scared, but determined. I had no choice but to keep going if we were going to get home.

“OK, OK, we can do this. We’ve got this. I can do this. I can handle anything.”

Oh, God, don’t let us end up in a snowbank out here in the sticks. Well, at least we’ve got skis and warm clothes and boots on. 

Forty-five minutes later, we arrived home. It wasn’t even snowing.

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Then, at sunrise on Sunday morning, I did this:

Lake Erie is nearly completely frozen over and Presque Isle bay, the inlet waters between the city of Erie and the peninsula, have been frozen for at least a month.

I’ve always been terrified of even stepping out onto the ice over the lake. I did it once, years ago, and made it only a few feet before I turned around (on wobbly legs) and ran for the shoreline.

On our weekly long runs at the park, I often shake my heads at the ice fisherman, dragging sleds full of gear onto the ice. 

And they think we runners are the crazy ones, at least we’re on LAND.

But friends in Team Adrenaline — how appropriately named for this adventure — decided to take a hike from the Bayfront Convention Center to the ferry boat dock (near the Cookhouse) across the frozen bay. Two miles each way, four miles round trip.

As soon as I was “invited” to the event on Facebook, I snorted and thought…no way. But, then, Stacey, whose husband works for a local ship-building company,  said the ice was at least 8 to 10 inches thick in the bay.

And I thought, it’s now or never.

That’s me in the pink snowpants, walking as softly as possible, following behind the group lest our collective weight be too much for the ice. I have a length of rope and two screwdrivers in my backpack because I heard you can use them like ice picks to drag yourself out of the ice if you fall through.

I was enormously relieved to see Kristen (in the blue coat) carrying a lifeguard ring…

As we left solid ground…

for solid ice.

A look back at the shore. The shimmering on the bay is not water, but solid ice.

We got more comfortable, the farther we walked. Though you can see from that some of us (me: still holding my arms-out-for-balance. Leslie: waving) found our ice legs sooner than others.

I stayed on the patches of snow as much as possible because — have I mentioned this? — I was a wee bit nervous.

Occasionally, there were popping and cracking noises that would send us (or at least me) scattering, but CJ, in the camo below, who had done some ice fishing, assured us it was “totally normal.”  The expanses of open ice, where the snow had blown away, offered a measure of comfort. The ice appeared to be nearly a foot thick.

The square huts in distance are ice fisherman, some of them had drove out there on four-wheelers. Had they fired those up and come anywhere near my direction, I’d have screamed like a girl for them to get away from me.

It wasn’t long before the others were comfortable enough to goof off.

Life is truly an adventure with this crew.

Here we are 1 mile into the lake. You’ll notice, I’m still on the edge of the group, ready to bolt at the first sign of a fissure.

Arriving at our turn around point — the ferry boat dock at Presque Isle State Park.

The walk back was colder and most of us had picked up the pace. The novelty had worn off, as had most of my fear. I actually joined the group at that point.

Along the way, we ran into some arctic wolves:

OK, they were actually pampered, perfectly coiffed show dogs on a break from the AKC dog show being held at the convention center. They were very well behaved and very, very happy to be running around in the ice and snow.

When we got back to shore, Jean shared a story with us. Forty-five years ago that week her father had died after falling through the ice while ice fishing and suffering a heart attack.

Jean, right, with our fearless ice walk (and T.A.) leader, Steve.

Jean said that he wasn’t in very good health and that’s likely what caused the heart attack. She wanted to cross the bay as a tribute to her father and testimony to the good health that all the members of T.A. enjoy and work for.

Amen, sister (and, nice hat!)

I did it! Fear be damned!

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About Just Write
“What ends up revealing itself when free writing is that everything has meaning. That is a magnificent gift of writing. If we write from a free heart-gut place, our souls start speaking.”