Level III

      It was a dark and stormy night. The sun was up, and the skies were blue. Fresh snow whipped across the fields and flashes of color reflected off the ice-covered windows. The ground sparkled between gusts that shook the house. I glanced at the remote thermometer. Brrr! I looked for my nice hunting gloves in the closet. I was going to be late, so I grabbed leather dress gloves from another coat. My insulated hunting boots were on the floor. Too bad that I couldn’t button my khakis if I wore my long underwear. Flannel lined jeans would be perfect, but I outgrew the pair I owned. I zipped my coat, pulled my stocking cap low, inhaled and reached for the door. The door moved a pile of snow before I stepped into calf deep snow. I smiled; good decision wearing the hunting boots. Hunched against the gusts of wind that sliced through my coat as I shuffled to my truck, parked under a pile of snow.

      Was I squinting because of the snow hitting my face, or because it was so bright? It was cold and it hurt to take a breath of air. My face stung as I shuffled to my truck. No birds were flying and the ground under the bird feeder, normally full of songbirds feasting on the fallen birdseed, was empty. It was so quiet I could hear them as my hunting boots compacted the snow. This is what it is like when it is -18 degrees.

      I tried to open the door to my truck, but the door would not budge. I should have put vegetable oil on the door seals before it got really cold last night; but my truck was already under a thick blanket of snow by the time I got home from work last night. The door gave way after a firmer tug and a small pile of snow fell from the roof onto the seat. Maybe I should have taken the Camry, it had heated seats! The old, reliable 4WD Ford F-150 would eat this snow alive! I reached around the steering column and turned the key. After a few seconds of labored engine cranking, the engine coughed, sputtered, then fired. The V8 and its rhythmic exhaust provided the only sound. I snapped the defroster fan to high and made sure the temperature was set to hot. I wanted to sit in the truck and get out of the wind to wait for the truck to warm up. Instead, I retrieved the snow scraper from behind the driver’s seat and began to remove the snow. My fingers hurt from the cold, and I was pissed that my nice hunting gloves were somewhere inside my warm house. After a few minutes of scraping, most of the truck’s front was free of snow and ice. The remaining ice on the inside of the windshield was inching upwards as the defroster did its job.

      I did NOT want to shovel any of the snow in my driveway. It was way too cold for that. I felt the rear tires lose traction as the snowdrift that surrounded my truck fought my truck’s forward progress. I put the truck in park, shifted to 4WD Low and waited for the transmission to engage. The engine’s RPM ramped up as I gave it some gas. I felt the tires grab one by one, pulling and pushing me forward. The drift was no match for my truck now and I made my way down the driveway towards the highway. The plows had been down the highway already, so the road was bare save for a few drifts where the snow and wind raced across the open farmland. The heater spewed hot air and my fingers itched; a sign that the circulation was returning. I could see every exhaled breath and the defroster was working hard to keep the interior fogging at bay. I turned right onto a country road because it cut the angle and saved a few minutes of my commute. I shifted the truck into 4WD High, and I was traveling nicely. The glare off the snow made me squint. I would be at work in another fifteen minutes.

      I have no idea how it happened but next thing I knew, the engine raced, and I felt the steering get loose. My world became all white as I was pelted by small objects. I removed my foot from the gas and stomped on the brake realizing too late that brakes do not work very well when you are upside down. I came to a slow, but cushioned halt with a big poof. I found myself in a heap on the roof of the truck surrounded by whiteness. I made a mental note that next time, I should use my seatbelt. I shook the cobwebs and took stock of my situation. My truck was upside down with some corn stalk remnants in the cab having entered through the now broken passenger side window. It was quiet, still, and very cold. There was a large spider web crack across the intact windshield. The view of my surroundings was limited to what I could see out the broken window on the passenger side. I reached up to turn off the ignition and I felt a little pain in my right side. I tried to sit up and found that I could not use my right arm for leverage. I was afraid to look at myself fearing I would see something I didn’t want to see. I put my head back down and enjoyed the pillow of snow that was now in my truck.

      The realization that I was in some real trouble was beginning to sink in. The Sheriff had declared a Level III Snow Emergency, and no one was supposed to be on the roads. I might be here for a while. I reached for my phone in my right coat pocket to call 911 but could not move my arm. That was odd. My left hand was beginning to get cold again. Why wasn’t my right hand cold? So now, what do I do? No sense in screaming because the snow made wonderful sound dampening material. It was so quiet.

      I have no idea how long l had been on my side on the inside roof of my truck. A grey shape came towards me. The shape got closer and closer until a minivan stopped on the road. Wonderful. At least this person could call for help. Maybe they had already called. My view out the window was partially obscured but I saw heavy boots and a set of black pants with reflective tape on the cuffs peek beneath the open door of the minivan. A gust of wind slammed the mini van’s door shut and a fire helmet fell to the ground. The driver reached down to retrieve and then shake the snow from his helmet. The boots got closer “Hey. Is anyone in there?” I tried to yell but my right side really hurt. “I’m in here.” “OK, I’m with the Fire Department and it’s your lucky day. We have more help coming. Try to stay still and look straight ahead. I will come to you.”

Lucky Day? How is it my lucky day? The man got closer and I began to see the lower half of his heavy pants and coat. All of a sudden, I heard “oh shit” and the man disappeared in a large explosion of snow. His helmet flew off, landing with a thud somewhere beyond my field of view. I began to hear sirens in the background. A few grunts later, my rescuer came into view. His black coat was covered in snow and his face was red. I heard another voice yell out. “Harold, what the hell are you doing? Are you OK?” “I’m, fine Chief. That’s a deep ditch right there” came his reply. The man who I assumed was Harold, poked his head in the broken passenger side window and smiled. “Hi there. My name is Harold and I am a Paramedic with the Fire Department. What is your name?” “My name is Jack” was my reply. “So, Jack, why did you drive your truck into a ditch and get me out here in this crap today? You really should get this window fixed. Someone could get hurt.” I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “Really? I didn’t know that. I wanted to get some air.” “Touché.  Are you hurt?” “Not really,” I answered. “My right arm appears to be stuck. Are YOU OK? That was a pretty impressive fall. You’re not supposed to do that.” Harold’s answer set the mood. “You saw that? Did it look as stupid as it felt? The only thing I hurt was my pride. Thanks for asking though.” Harold asked several other questions to determine how injured I really was. While we were conversing, the radio mic on Harold’s coat played multiple voices and chatter on. Harold told me to sit tight because he wanted to talk with the other crews. Before I could remind him that I really couldn’t move, he said, “That was a dumb thing to say. Like you can move. Just keep looking straight ahead. I don’t want you to see me fall again. I will be right back.”

A small engine start up followed by lots of voices. Another voice warned the others. “Watch yourselves, everyone. There is a deep ditch there. Isn’t that right Harold?” After a few moments, a ladder appeared next to the window and Harold returned with a heavy wool blanket. “Put this over you. You will hear a lot of noise. We may have to cut you out of here and you can use that blanket to keep debris off of you while we get you out.”

“OK, Jack.  I need you to be completely honest with me.  No bullshit.  Where do you hurt?” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster, “Nowhere. I cannot move my right arm though.” Harold reached under the blanket and patted my right arm. “Does that hurt?” “No.” He unzipped my coat and reached into my shoulder neck area. I jumped when he touched me. “Does that hurt?” he asked. “No, your hands are freezing. The only thing that hurts is my chest from laughing so hard watching you fall.” “Ok. Sit tight. I think you’ve broken your collarbone. It doesn’t feel right.” Harold climbed the ladder and I overheard more discussion.

“The only way I know to get him out is to remove the door, slide a backboard under him, and slide him out.” “Removing that door, sliding him out, and then lifting him to the road will be really difficult. We will need more help to do that. It’s really cold out here and I don’t want to wait for Bucyrus to get here.” “How about we try to roll it? We can use the snow to our advantage. Harold, what do you think? Can we roll the truck while he stays inside?” “Do we have what we need to roll the truck? We don’t have lift bags.” Harold’s said, “I don’t see how we can safely move him the way the truck is sitting right now. We will have more options when the truck is upright.” Another voice shouted, “Hey Chief, can we use this for our extrication training hours?” “Sure, why not?”

      Harold descended the ladder and shared the plan of how they were going to roll the truck upright. He explained that there might be some fender damage to the passenger side rear because they needed an anchor point, but they felt the damage to my truck would be minimal. “Bob, the guy running the winch, does body work and he’s bummed because he thought he would get to fix your truck. So far, it looks like the only damage is to your windshield. You really ought to get that window fixed though.” Harold gave me an airhorn with instructions to let loose if I was uncomfortable with what was going on. The ladder was removed.

      Activity swelled above the driver side as a hook was secured to the frame. I also heard pounding and I assumed a stake was being driven into the ground to create an anchor point. Harold shouted down to me, “OK, Jack, here we go!” The truck slid a little and I was about to trigger the airhorn. Before I could pull the trigger, my view changed as the truck rolled upright. Within seconds, I was watching the wind blow across the field through my cracked windshield. My truck settled upright with a soft plop. I heard a voice cry out, “That worked better than I thought it would. It’s like we knew what we were doing!” Harold came across the ladder that was placed across the ditch and leaned in the broken window, telling me to hold my right arm against my chest. He helped me exit the truck using the ladder to cross the ditch. What ditch? It was perfectly level. Two firefighters reached out to me to help navigate the final steps before I made it to the road. As I reached the road, I heard another “Oh shit!” I glanced backwards quickly enough and saw Harold lose his balance and fall sideways into the ditch. He disappeared in an explosion of snow with his helmet flying. “Son of a bitch! Not again!” I tried to laugh but I felt a sharp pain in my side. A man wearing a white helmet escorted me to the ambulance. As I walked the few steps, I saw a large fire engine, a tanker, and a Ford pick up on steroids, all with flashing lights, parked along the roadway. Two firefighters were spooling the winch cable back on the enormous pick-up. That must have been what they used to right my truck. I noticed pick-up trucks, cars, and Harold’s minivan parked on the other side of the road. Dallas Township VFD was emblazoned in reflective lettering on the doors of the fire equipment. I felt like an idiot. These guys were volunteers and I made them come out in this crap. As I ducked into the ambulance, I saw the guy in the white helmet turn and shout, “Ok judges. How do you score Harold’s dive?”