Modern knights in shining armor carry snow shovels, not swords

There are undoubtedly many stories of last week’s snow storm, and in most places the now-graying aftermath is still evident.

Folks that spent many hours stuck on Pennsylvania highways are not likely to soon forget their ordeal, and based on how many complaints PennDOT and local public works departments have received about road conditions, likely local officials won’t forget this one soon either.

But that’s not what will make last week’s storm memorable for me.

Let me preface things by stating that I like snow—a lot. It’s been too many years since I’ve had the opportunity to go skiing, but I hold the opinion that it is one of the better thrills out there.

I don’t look forward to it, but driving in snowy conditions doesn’t phase me either, which is a good thing, because it seems like I’ve been required to drive in more than my share of bad weather.

I fear no snow.

That said, I can’t say I really looked forward to driving in it last Wednesday, and indeed, had it not been a “production day,” the day the newspaper must be “put to bed” (my friends always ask if I tuck it in and read it a bedtime story), there is very little that could have convinced me to not stay in bed for an extra half-hour before enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee.

Reporting from home is actually easier, since my apartment is in Easton, but my office is in Allentown.

But such snowy morning niceties were not to be, so I and the Swedish Prince (my Saab) hit the highway Wednesday morning.

I may not have had the opportunity to sleep in, but apparently the plow guy that is supposed to do the parking lot at my office building did. So after a very slow, white ride to work, I arrived only to find that I couldn’t get my car into the parking lot, despite 25 minutes of trying.

Eventually, I gave up, parked the car by the (plowed) roadside and hiked in.

It wasn’t thrilling, but I figured at least I wouldn’t get stuck in the parking lot.

I was entirely wrong.

A couple hours later when I hiked back out to the car, I found myself going nowhere quickly, though all around me had been plowed. I hadn’t even gotten plowed in. The snow had drifted, leaving the Swedish Prince buried past the running boards.

But I said I fear no snow, and I don’t, so I popped the trunk and got out the gear.

Unfortunately, I only got the car a few months ago, and snow wasn’t the highest priority in August, so my gear consisted of a small but sturdy metal collapsible shovel and a few spare floor mats that could get the car some traction, in theory, at least.

It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that in an ongoing blizzard my gear was about as effective as attempting to clear the Jersey shoreline with a teaspoon.

But I was determined to free my car. “I and the Swedish Prince ARE going back to Easton today, together,” was my singular thought.

So I dug. And dug some more, all the while subscribing to the minimalist theory that if I could just get the car a little traction, my ordeal would be over.

But it was becoming evident that I had a losing battle on my hands. A five-foot-two, 105-pound woman armed only with a mini shovel in a foot of continually drifting snow in an ongoing blizzard is not a perfect model of efficiency, unfortunately.

And just when I was about to lose it and hike back to the office to demand that a professional be called to pull me out of that drift, a big, shiny pickup truck stopped on the other side of the roadway and a man got out.

I hesitated asking for help. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be out in such unpleasant weather unless they already had something important to do, but getting stuck at an office park that was quickly becoming a cold white ghost town was a pretty distasteful prospect, so I asked if perhaps I could get a push.

They did far more.

It turns out one of the men was driving by earlier and saw that I was stuck. So he went back to the building where he works for Gerhart Scale, about a mile down the road from my office, picked up two shovels and a buddy and came back in a blizzard just to help dig me out. That’s what they were doing when I asked for a push.

I am still flabbergasted at their thoughtfulness. It seems such a rare thing these days for anyone to take the time out to help another, even when it’s easy. And this was not easy.

Mike Shank and Steve Iles are rare guys. They wouldn’t even let me help with the rest of the shovelling and told me to get warm in the car instead.

I only met them for a few minutes, but I won’t forget Mike and Steve any time soon.

Modern knights in shining armor don’tcome along often and they don’t necessarily carry swords—they might just carry shovels.

Thanks again, Mike and Steve. You made my day, which, though I had forgotten at the time, was Valentine’s Day.

(Originally published in The Easton News, February 22, 2007)