Snow On 85

A late Monday evening to start the work week. Richmond was on the horizon and the snow followed us from the North. Lanes on lanes on lanes of traffic were slowed through the 95 corridor from DC to Fredericksburg, VA. More than the normal outflow from DC after the work day. The night held something special, the dusk drew on in dreariness. The forecast was forewarning of precipitation. The bustle and flow of the Megalopolis waned as we reached the Occoquan River. DC was behind our taillights and the roads were bound with travelers headed South.

Richmond was passable with the credit to skillful driving, like a good golfer driving a golfball. The medical campus of VCU hung out over 95. The old slave cemetery buried under the lanes of traffic was full of spirited anticipation for the angels to watch the travelers. This was a poignant stretch of the journey. I felt the hiccup of time bouncing off our windshield. Like a time warp moment, I imagined the Richmond in the late 19th Century after the taxing Reconstruction from the wrath of the Civil War. I felt witness to times when people once bound to servitude were laid to a final rest in burial plots that now feel the rumble of the powerful I-95. The train yard and the James River, the Philip Morris headquarters all resurrect the Southern infrastructure. The form and function of geography and climate. Respect to those who toiled in the soil of times ago.

Creeping along in the Southbound lanes, we reckon with an inch of snow and spinouts all along. Petersburg and 85 are outside Richmond's limits. I'm not sure where this piece of writing is going. I'm feeling the vibe as we travel on. We get to 85 and the traffic is slowed. The trucks and the cars are gliding around like shuffleboard pucks. Bouncing off the guard rails. I try to keep it slow and steady. 104.3 is on the radio. The classic R&B crooners are speaking to me through the speakers. The night air is cold for the Southside. The locals are all in their homes with the fires burning. The only ones on the road are the trucks and the out of town work crews. Travelers passing through at an inopportune time as the snow pours through the night skies. Thank goodness a WHITE OUT was avoided. Just enough precipitation to cause a slickness, like a slicked hair style, greased back with a comb. Slip slide away.

The pines nestled in the median of 85 are coated to their tops with powdery snow. The hawks and the owls are somewhere out there among the sweet smell of those pine needles. Tonight, we are with them and the gophers and groundhogs that bury themselves a little deeper in the ground. Beneath the freeze line perhaps, a den burrowed from the fortitude for survival. They know, they have a gift from the night sky. A keener sense of skill in the elements.

Our snow drive was filled with poise and patience as my copilot gave me good company. We had good laughs and he reintroduced me to the Sixers theme song from the eighties. Then, I started to think about my copilot and how he provided the piece of the puzzle to complete our journey. CALM. His refusal to get "panicky" gave me the opportunity to push on with confidence. My thoughts are coming together now as we listened to the 76ers song from long ago. From a time when Dr.J got his final piece of the puzzle to a championship season: Moses Malone. So, as we pushed through Petersburg, VA, hometown to Moses Malone, I felt the elements breathing down my neck and forging 5 gold stars for my driving record.