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So... 1984 I finished school in Pennsylvania and the USAF sent me to San Antonio. At the time I had an E350 long body, long wheel base Econoline. I'd picked it up so I wouldn't have to rely on the military to move my stuff.
I had a bag of sand in the back...some of those folding metal mesh traction helpers.. chains.... and a snow shovel. I mean, I grew up in New England, spent four years in Bethlehem... didn't even think of getting rid of that stuff.
Last weekend of 1984 San Antonio had 5.3 inches of snow. First weekend of 1985 San Antonio had 13.1 inches of snow.
It was the apocalypse. That hadn't happened in generations. Buildings were falling down, not designed for snow loads, you know. Pretty much every carport in the city folded over on its contents.
I lived in an apartment on a hillside, driveway wound back and forth up the hill through some shallow switchbacks. Day after the big snow, nothing but dead cars blocking the driveway. Crashed into each other.... stuck on curbs... blown transmissions drained of fluid, the fluid now running in small rivers down the hillside. No one knew how to drive in snow. No one.
It was a group effort to clear the driveway. I got my shovel from the van and joined the other residents. Shovel -- I had the only snow shovel ... the rest were garden spades -- push, heave ... move each car out of the way, move on to the next. After a few hours I was pretty tired. Another guy said, "Hey, buddy, you've been doing this longer than I have. Let me spell you."
I gratefully handed him the snow shovel.
He dug into the drift we were working on. He took four or five strokes, started to clear a spot.
Stopped. Held the snow shovel at arm's length. Studying it.
"WOW!", he said, "... it's like...it's like this thing is MADE to shovel snow!"
I had a bag of sand in the back...some of those folding metal mesh traction helpers.. chains.... and a snow shovel. I mean, I grew up in New England, spent four years in Bethlehem... didn't even think of getting rid of that stuff.
Last weekend of 1984 San Antonio had 5.3 inches of snow. First weekend of 1985 San Antonio had 13.1 inches of snow.
It was the apocalypse. That hadn't happened in generations. Buildings were falling down, not designed for snow loads, you know. Pretty much every carport in the city folded over on its contents.
I lived in an apartment on a hillside, driveway wound back and forth up the hill through some shallow switchbacks. Day after the big snow, nothing but dead cars blocking the driveway. Crashed into each other.... stuck on curbs... blown transmissions drained of fluid, the fluid now running in small rivers down the hillside. No one knew how to drive in snow. No one.
It was a group effort to clear the driveway. I got my shovel from the van and joined the other residents. Shovel -- I had the only snow shovel ... the rest were garden spades -- push, heave ... move each car out of the way, move on to the next. After a few hours I was pretty tired. Another guy said, "Hey, buddy, you've been doing this longer than I have. Let me spell you."
I gratefully handed him the snow shovel.
He dug into the drift we were working on. He took four or five strokes, started to clear a spot.
Stopped. Held the snow shovel at arm's length. Studying it.
"WOW!", he said, "... it's like...it's like this thing is MADE to shovel snow!"
