With the Indigo Girls so suddenly silenced by the abruptness of the landing in the snowbank, it began to dawn on Page and Beatrix that the day’s itinerary was no longer operative. Had the BMW not stopped so quickly upon its crash-landing, it was only a foot away from a steep bank that would have sent it tumbling down a slope into a ravine. Page was a little freaked out by this observation. Beatrix, not so much. The woman had perfected the art of looking over the edge into they abyss and giving it an amused smile and the slow eye. This, to her, was just another opportunity to offer the lip-licking angel of death a cigarette.
Page within moments was calmed by Beatrix’s lack of delirium. Beatrix liked this aspect of Page’s personality, that she was open to suggestion and could be talked out of her first reaction to things.
“My God, what are we going to do?” Page finally asked.
“Turn the key,” Beatrix said, “let’s see what happens.”
The car started back up. But it would not, could not, move. The sporty vehicle was high centered in the snow that had cushioned its landing.
“Well, that’s that,” Beatrix announced. “Let’s start walking.”
“No wait,” Page said. “I’ve got an idea.”
She popped the trunk.
“Ta-da!” she exclaimed, holding a big wood and steel spatula and a medium sauce pan.
“What,” Beatrix said, “we’re going to grill our way out of this?”
“No, we’re going to dig, look.”
With that started scooping snow off the back rear tire. It looked effective, for a while.
But the problem had so little to do with the tires and the exquisitely well-reviewed drive train of the M6. The problem is that, with its wide wheel base and the snow supporting the chassis, there was no way for the power to do much of anything but create noise and steam.
They worked on it for two hours but then, in frustration, Page began to relate openly and despairingly to the Donner party.
“Okay, Page,” Beatrix said, “let’s you put down the sauce pan and let’s re-think our exit strategy here.”
She motioned her back to the slope on the opposite side of the road, where a patch of sunlight could warm them as they laid back on their coats.
“Shit,” Page said. “I can’t believe we’re going to die up here. It just seems so unfair.”
“Oh geez Page,” Beatrix said. “Ye of little faith. We’ve got my lighter, most of a box of cheese nips, a bag of raisins and lots of gum. We’ll make it.”
A breeze bent the tops of the spruces and created a woosh, then died away. As it did they could hear a groan from up the road, from over a crest of the small hill in front of them.
And then, all of a sudden, it appeared, the reddest, gaudiest F-350 pickup truck between Post Falls and St. Paul. It was red and snarly, and the driver was having fun exerting the beast of a machine to perform a dance of little fish tails in the snow.
“Ah,” Beatrix said. “There’s our ride.”
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