I've never been entirely sure just how long a New York Minute actually is, most doin's by city folk being something of a mystery to me, but based on the context it's used in I always assumed it was some indefinite but short period of time (as well as the title of a very good Don Henley song).
A week ago Monday I was reminded of just how quickly things can change, and it very nearly got me (and some other people) killed.
I had a load of PVC pipe fittings that went to Denver and Seattle, got the first half of the load delivered in Denver first thing Monday and headed on up to final-out Wednesday. Weather was good, mostly cloudy, about 20 degrees with a stiff breeze out of the north that was carrying a continuous stream of fine powder snow across I-80 as I crossed Wyoming. Traction was unimpaired, but I was easing along at 65 mph instead of the posted 75 just 'cause.
About 20 miles west of Rawlins, after a couple of hours of running on the same stuff, I topped a hill (MM 184 for those into details) and knew I was in serious trouble. Scattered at random over the mile-and-a-half long downslope in front of me were between 15 and 20 various trucks and cars, including a couple of State Trooper cruisers that were slid off to the right. Over on the eastbound side, where traffic was trying to go uphill, a couple of jack-knifed rigs had effectively closed the road, and a few cars had apparently slid off here and there. I really didn't have time for sightseeing, since I was still going west at 65 mph. I immediately offered up the Trucker's Prayer ("Oh, Shit") to anybody who might be listening.
Ice.
Gingerly, like I was extracting old, unstable dynamite from the rectal cavity of a menopausal grizzly with a toothache, I applied a little brake. Nothing happened. Casually glancing in my left mirror I observed the interesting phenomenom of seeing my trailer tires not turning, while I proceeded west at a steady 65 mph. (the metering valve on tractor-trailers, if properly adjusted, always applies braking pressure to the trailer slightly ahead of the tractor) After enjoying watching my trailer tires for a leisurely 11 milliseconds or so, I redirected my attention forward, and started trying to figure out what and where I was going to hit, first.
The small part of my brain that calculates pot odds for me when I'm playing poker chimed in that it figured there was a 49% chance that I would hit another vehicle before leaving the road, an equal chance I would leave the road before hitting another vehicle, a 1% chance I would make the bottom of the hill intact and upright and a 1% chance that I could build a cushion of profanity and levitate my truck to the next upslope.
I immediately started cussing, with enthusiasm.
I couldn't turn the steering wheel, because if all eight trailer tires can lock without any discernible effect the two up front aren't going to grab much, and I was still pointed down the road, although drifting very slowly to the left because of the wind. I couldn't just activate my ejection seat and bail out because I don't have an ejection seat. I couldn't detect any levitation starting, so I had to try something desperate.
Most big trucks have what's commonly called a "Jake brake", an engine compression brake that functions by starving one or more cylinders of fuel and using the compression of the engine to slow the drive wheels. Normally, using it in extremely slick conditions is suicidal, because slowing the middle sets of wheels on a vehicle that bends in the middle will cause it to bend in the middle, which tends to be unpleasant at 65 mph, but since I had that ejection seat problem I had to do something, and turning around so I hit ass-first didn't seem all that terrible a prospect.
My truck is a fairly new model, with the Jake brake control in a stick off the right side of the steering column, and gives me the choice of how many cylinders I want to starve, from 1 to 6. I tried 1, then 2, and nothing happened. Gingerly, very gingerly, I tried 3. The truck didn't jump out from under me but I noticed that my southerly drift ceased, so I was going straight down what appeared to be the middle of the road.
About this time my "Low Air Warning" alarms and lights went off, a response to the fact that I had been blowing my air horns continuously to try to warn the folks downhill that I was coming. The funny thing about air brake systems is that if the air pressure drops below safe operating pressure all the brakes lock, which would have been suboptimal right at that moment, so I decided that everybody who was paying attention already knew I was coming so I quit blowing the horn.
I had to get some sort of steering control, so I decided to try another notch of Jake brake, and eased it up to 4. Contrary to expectations, again the truck didn't jump out from under me, but started a gradual drift back to the right. Well, hell, the wind would make me drift left, the Jake would make me drift right, what more could anybody want??
I wish I could claim that superior driving skills left me around to write this Diary, but the truth is I got extremely lucky. Since my load was light to start with, and half of it had already been removed in Denver, there was practically no weight on my trailer tires, so it didn't immediately jack-knife when I tried the brakes and didn't have enough weight to push things out of line when I started Jaking it.
The problem was a matter of timing: a break in the clouds when the Sun was at just the right angle had allowed the road to warm just enough to melt enough snow to wet the surface. When the clouds closed it froze into a thin layer of ice without offering any visible clues to what was going on under the steady stream of migrating snow.
There's no great moral to this story, just a reminder that when driving, like when living, there's merit to Don Henley's words:
In a New York Minute
Everything can change
In a New York Minute
Things can get pretty strange
In a New York Minute
Everything can change
In a New York Minute