Good times were had by all. This is not the point of this blog post. The point is to recount the epic struggle on the way home.
Both girls imbibed a little too much the night before their departure and were in considerably low spirits. Rachel snuggled up for a catnap in the back seat while Janelle bravely agreed to navigate Agent Michael Scarn: Threat Level Midnight (a 2004 Saturn Vue, NOT 4wheel drive) for the first leg of the drive.
A semi jack-knifed on I-71 on the way to Cincinnati. The girls were stuck in an hour-long traffic jam. Not a good omen. But the roads were good, it was a balmy 54 degrees, and the sun was shining, so they were in good spirits.
Meanwhile, ominous texts/calls/Facebook posts were coming in. "Be careful, huge snowstorm in MI." "Don't die, please." "Get a hotel if it's too bad." So Janelle and Rachel were very nervous driving through Ohio, even though the roads were nothing short of glorious.
"I felt like I was going to throw up the entire time, even though nothing was happening." -Janelle
Then came Toledo.
Rachel was at the helm of Agent Michael Scarn when the Icepocalypse hit. Sheets and sheets of death water were pouring down and instantly freezing on the windshield. Scarn's shitty wipers were no match for the wrath of Mother BITCH-ure. The girls contemplated getting off of I-75 and getting a hotel room, but were too scared to try the exit ramps, which were paved with inches-thick sheets of ice that Scarn's tires and 4-cylinder engine were no match for. Additionally, the semi-trucks thought that they could do whatever they wanted and hovered so close to Scarn that there were several times in which all three entities thought they were doomed.
So the ice kept on pelting down, until it was time to navigate the hell hole that is known to the general public as I-275. Once Scarn and Rachel hit the treacherous freeway, there was no way forward. Literally. This wasn't ice anymore, it was 7 inches of uncharted snow.
"I was terrified the entire time." - Rachel
Janelle advised Rachel to exit at Telegraph so they could find a hotel room. However, the only available hotels were janky motels that had "YOU WILL BE MURDERED HERE" written all over the signs. [actually, the signs said "Air Conditioning/VCRs", so, same thing.] After stopping at one of said motels and immediately deciding that they would rather die in an icy car wreck than chopped to pieces by a mentally unstable motel owner, Janelle took the wheel of Scarn and set off north on Telegraph through Flat Rock. Using the handy GPS, she navigated very nice, very empty plowed farm roads until she made it back to I-275.
Knowing that Scarn needed velocity more than anything to make it through the now-10-inches-deep layer of snow, she gunned it through the lanes to make it to the left lane, which had been plowed. The girls and Scarn drove verrrrrrrry slowly for about 20 miles north, until the treacherous exit at 8 Mile. Once again, Scarn triumphed, making it up the exit ramp and through Rachel's un-plowed subdivision, safely delivering Janelle's comrade to her humble abode.
But Janelle's journey had just begun. [WHAT?! Yes.]
Once again bravely assuming command of Scarn, the two of them tackled the ominous route of I-275 north to I-696, which was comparatively easy. And then, I-696 decided it was going to be a little bitch.
No lanes. Just dozens of random snow tracks. Minivans thought they were off-roading vehicles and sped past Scarn and Janelle, fish-tailing and spewing snow into the windshields of other vehicles. Scarn's poor windshield wipers were stretched to their breaking point and began to unravel. Up the looming mountain of the I-75 bridge and down to the Van Dyke exit, Janelle screamed all the Glee songs she could to keep her focus while Scarn's tires spun and spat. Finally, Scarn and Janelle emerged onto the service drive, where, thankfully, there were minimal cars and very minimal snow-plowing.
Janelle called her mom from the service drive and asked for some beer.
Thankfully, Janelle and Scarn emerged onto Janelle's street. Only one set of tracks navigated the icy tundra, and stopped at the corner. Scarn and Janelle were pioneers down the dead end, going 40 miles an hour in an attempt to avoid stuckage, but probably only moving about 15 miles per hour. In a last-ditch, valiant attempt, Janelle spun Scarn into the driveway of her house . . .
. . . only to get stuck. In the driveway. Of her own house.
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