Day two dawned like an ice castle at the Quebec Winter Carnival. Trees, cars, and sidewalks were coated with ice. Like most other cars in the lot, ours was frozen shut. With a little persuasion, and a little sunshine, we opened the charge port and plugged in the battery to nudge it back to life while we ate breakfast. About 9 a.m., the air temperature rose above freezing, so we bundled up and hit the road, dodging the ice which was flying off trees and other vehicles.
After an hour or so of Connecticut, we discovered a third party in the car with us: Big Brother. As we sped well over 70 to pass a van with a snowy roof, our computer actually complained. “If you drive over 80, you will not reach your destination.” The nerve of that computer. I did not like Big Brother. I was not the Arctic explorer I once dreamed of being, but at least I could drive a car. Or could I?
On the New Jersey Turnpike, the car once again developed a mind of its own, and a good thing it did. A white SUV moved into our space from the slow lane, and before we had time to react, our side view cameras spotted it, and Big Brother steered us safely away. Otherwise, I would be a meatball on 95 South and never make it to Florida. So Big Brother redeemed himself. Now I am grateful, with a touch of ambivalence.
On the radio in Maryland, Siri played us this country gospel song: “When the storm around me rages, Guide me, Rock of Ages, guide Thou me.” Go figure.