Thrice Try

It is more than obvious that I ain’t no pioneer-stock as I once believed myself to be. How do I know? It took me three tries to get up to Virginia City and only on the third attempt did I succeed.

The first time a Nevada State Police Trooper refused to let me drive up Geiger Grade because I didn’t have the required chains on my tires. The second day, I made it as far as the Virginia City Highlands, and because my truck is so light in the rear, I lost traction heading up towards the summit and had to back down.

As I was backing down, I saw a truck pop over the ridge behind me and so I move into the opposite lane, driving in reverse. The truck flew by me and made it over where I couldn’t. Then a car came in the other direction and I figured I was on flat enough ground that I could swing my truck around and head back towards the bottom of the hill.

Rearend dropped off into a snow shallow and I got stuck. Being somewhat of a thinking man, I had a short-handled shovel with me, so I spent about two hours digging myself free. Oddly, I saw no other traffic coming or going that entire time. It was a hopeless feeling.

The third try was a success, though slow going. I managed to make it to Dayton to get my newspapers and finish my route in the valley, heading for Virginia City. The road was fine all the way, not even Griner’s Corner held any problems for me. In town was another story.

Within a two or three-hour period, I managed to get myself stuck twice and thoroughly high-centered a third time. Remember that shovel I had with me the day before? It was stolen from the bed of my truck while I was loading the paper box at the Smiths in Dayton. Stupidly, I watched as the guy walked to his truck with a shovel, tossed it inside the cab of his truck, climb in after it and drive off.

The high centering happened behind Sait Mary’s Church. I parked and got out only to have my truck start sliding downhill in the lot. I had parked on a thick patch of ice and did not realize it until I stepped foot on it. Since I was unable to halt the momentum, I gave in, popped the brake, and let the truck slid into the drift.

Thankfully, Bum Hess and his wife came out of the church and he was able to give me a push after we hand-dug all the snow from beneath my truck’s chassis. Wet and freezing, I was very happy to get in my truck and power away to Taylor then make the corner at F Street, park for a while and let my heater dry me out and warm me up.

Once home, I saw a photograph or perhaps a drawing of Snowshoe Thompson, who is renowned for delivering the mail from Genoa to Lake Tahoe on a set of skis he caved. Yeah, embarrassingly I ain’t no pioneer stock.