Snow brings memories of a tow rope

At last week’s Curry County Commission meeting, County Road Superintendent Walon Jones took a few moments to say thanks to residents who helped us all during the snowstorm of Jan. 9-10.

Some brought out their tractors, loaders and such to help clean the icy roads and help motorists out of ditches.

I compared that tale to the time long ago and not so far away that I got stuck in a snowstorm east of Amarillo.

I had a radio job there and lived in a duplex in a place that used to be part of the Amarillo Air Force Base that closed in 1968.

I had only been on the job for about four days when a big ol’ snowstorm rolled into town.

Interstate 40 was closed from about Oklahoma City to Albuquerque, which included the stretch across the Texas Panhandle.

The great thing was the radio station was maybe five miles straight down the road, Amarillo Boulevard.

The not-so-great thing was I could see big snowdrifts everywhere in the subdivision.

I was about ready to go back in the house and stay home when I heard an approaching truck.

Soon I saw a bobtail truck coming, busting through every snowdrift.

A “bobtail” is an 18-wheeler without its trailer.

I hopped in my car and took off after the truck.

He’d come up on a snowdrift and plow right through it.

I felt good, I was going to get to work.

Until I came up on the last snowdrift, a big ‘un, the last one before I’d be free and clear and on to Amarillo Boulevard.

It was not to be.

The bobtail went over the drift.

So when I got to the snowdrift …

Thunk …

I was stuck.

Off to my right was an idling Potter County Sheriff’s patrol car with two deputies inside.

I moseyed over to their vehicle.

The driver’s side window came down as I approached.

“Any chance you guys could give me a push?” I asked. Their car had a bumper that looked right for the job.

“No sir. We might damage your car and you’d sue us,” said the driving deputy.

“Promise I won’t,” I said.

The deputy laughed.

So I went back and stood by my car on top of the snowdrift hoping maybe somebody might lend a hand.

It was 1992 and the golden age of “cellphonage” was just beginning.

I didn’t have one.

Pickup trucks passed on by.

Finally one guy in a pickup did stop.

“If you have a tow rope I’ll pull you out,” he said.

“Yeah, no, I don’t have one,” I said.

“Ask the cops. They might lend you theirs,” he said.

I moseyed back over to the patrol car.

The driver’s window rolled down

“Um, do you have a tow rope I can borrow? This guy said he’d pull me out if we could borrow yours,” I said.

He got right out of his car, opened the trunk and handed me his tow rope.

“Thank you,” I said smiling, wondering why I didn’t think of it, but such is life.

Within minutes I was free of the drift and on my way to work at the radio station.

On the way home that afternoon I stopped and bought my own tow rope, to be ready if similar circumstances ever came up again.

They didn’t.

It got used to help pull stranded motorists into varied and sundry towns here in the Great American Southwest.

But that’s another bunch of stories.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

[email protected]