Houston In Winter

Fond memories of a wedding almost exactly 24 years ago, when Bob and Kathy Mullens got married at the chapel on the University of Houston campus.  The ceremony was fairy-tale like: the setting, the detail, everything.  Anyway, after the ceremony, everybody headed out to their cars for the roughly ten mile drive out to the west side for the reception.

The challenge was that the weather and road conditions were every bit as bad as what is predicted today.  Every road in Houston had iced up just in the time we were all in the chapel for the wedding.  This was no big deal for me.  In my home state of Michigan, we call this condition "Monday", so Sharon and I jumped in our car to head out.  Our friend Shirley begged to come with us because she was afraid of driving on the ice.

We left the campus and made our way up to Hwy 59.  The ice was extensive but drivable, not that you would suspect so based on the protests coming out of the back seat.  I was driving too fast, taking corners way too fast, and oh my goodness, you're not taking the expressway are you?

Shirley clutched the front seat for dear life so she could be certain that I could hear her and be able to react to her timely advice.  Sharon was hanging on to the assist handle on the passenger's side, looking a little pale.

I was still mystified: why all the concern?

Once we dropped onto Hwy 59, I began to understand.  Southbound and northbound, cars were creeping along at roughly 10 miles per hour.  The shoulders were littered with automobiles involved in minor wrecks, most turned in some direction other than prevailing traffic.  Within one mile, we actually passed a car resting on its roof, rear wheels turning lazily, the stunned driver suspended in midair, apparently still too confused about his predicament to put the shift lever in park and turn off the engine.

How, I'm thinking, is this even possible?  Nobody was going faster than 10 mph; his car had no other damage; there were no other cars in the area; Shirley screamed.

I moved over to the shoulder to lend assistance, but literally as soon as I did a cop boomed up behind me and took control.  I was just moving onto the ramp to the 610 Loop, so I kept going.  After that, things only got worse, with scores of cars crowding the shoulders or resting against the dividers on the inside lanes every mile.  I watched several accidents unfold, and then it hit me: Houstonians don't know how to drive on ice and snow.  I don't just mean that they're kind of bad at it; I mean, they really suck. 

I neatly zipped in and around the vast landscape of minor damage, Shirley inconsolable in the back seat, swearing that she would never drive with me again.  I reasoned with her that the sooner we got to the reception hall, the safer it would be for us.  She was not convinced. 

Suffice to say, we got to our destination safely, and I think we all learned a valuable lesson.  Not entirely sure what that was, but Shirley swore she would "never ever" drive with me again.  I was a little grumpy that she did not better appreciate my virtuoso driving performance, but all was well once we got inside.  The bar was open, so we all sat down with a glass of wine and waited for the rest of the crowd to arrive.

Nobody showed up for another 45 minutes.

Vindication takes many forms.  In this instance, it was the undivided attention of the bartender for the better part of an hour, and the certainty that my friend Shirley had come to the realization that I would be a better driver drunk than anybody else she knew sober.

Fond memories.