Her name was Karen, before it became an epithet. She lived in a corner of California called Burney, a spot between Redding and Nevada on 299. She worked at a radio station, spinning country greats for the folks who lived in the burg, along with a guy whose name I forget who had the morning shift at the Burney radio station. A.M. , I forget the call sign.
It’d been a couple of weeks since we’d seen one another, and this particular week, her boys were with their father, so she asked me to attempt the drive, since it was snowy in the mountains. I agreed and made plans, one doesn’t need to imagine the warmth of a love against the cold.
The weather in the valley and the mountains was clear and cold, no precipitation expected; but this was over forty years ago, and weather was a VERY educated guess then.
Bag packed, warm clothes, gloves, a hat, a few bucks, and I was on the way. The directions? Go to Redding, turn right.
Redding was dry and cold. I may have topped the tank there, or maybe it was at the truck stops on 5, again, no recollection of those mundane things.
What I do recall were my emotions, primarily my anxiety at having no chains on a snowy road, and my lack of experience driving on said surfaces. But as the snow thickened, I remembered what I’d read: no abrupt moves, gentle throttle, smooth input.
The car’s rear swung out, and I caught it, but the inevitable oscillation due to inexperience began. I lifted off, then shifted up to fourth and modulated the throttle and breathed. The road began its climb, and the 2 liter’s torque almost had its way with the car, but a bare lift off the gas, letting torque have its way saw me up the grade, and past a CHP Blazer driven by a residential officer. I tamped down my panic and proceeded, relieved that I drew no official attention.
What is late? What is early? The housemate was somewhere else with his partner, and I had a key, and I was expected.
A lock turned, a door opened,
Snug warmth with a love, blissful days ahead.
The Department Of Past Issues 