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Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
© 2004
High Heeled Snow Hike

Up to this point it had been an easy drive. The snow had had just began to accumulate and I was enjoying the way the downy flakes were decorating the trees along the way. I was driving half way up the last steep mountain road when my tires began spinning in place. Great. I must have hit a patch of ice.

My foot automatically pressed the accelerator hard, ready to propel my car off this invisible, slippery bit of pavement. Unfortunately, the extra gas only made my wheels spin faster. The car wouldn’t budge.

Ok. No biggie. It was easy to back the car down to the bottom of the hill. I positioned my car in the center of the road, aimed past the slick spot and slammed down the accelerator. “You can do it. Come on. You can do it.” I coached.

The wheels must have recognized that slippery place in the road, because as soon as we got there, they started spinning again. Ok. I was losing my patience. I lost my smile and started paying attention. This wasn’t fun. I backed down with a huff.

I tried driving up along the side of the road where there was a bit of snow from the last storm, figuring my tires could use the old snow as traction. Nope. Out of control spinning in the same area.

I was on my way to Cool-guy’s house. I had driven this way hundreds of times before, and I wasn’t expecting today’s drive to be difficult. The snow was falling, but there wasn’t even an inch dusting the ground so I hadn’t been concerned about slippery hills. If there had been more than three inches, I would’ve expected my car to revolt over the climb. But. There was barely an inch. It should have been an easy commute.

I exhaled quickly. No way. I’m not walking up this hill. Nope. Not today. I backed down and gunned it like I’d never gunned it before. I must have been going three hundred miles an hour when my wheels started the whirling spin at exactly the same spot, which goes to show you that distance + speed has nothing at all to do with ice.

Fine. Just great. I backed down the hill and parked in the little spot reserved for wimpy cars that can’t manage even simple snows. One inch? Come on. Barely an inch and my car becomes a paraplegic.

Heels. Yup. High heels. Don’t know why. There really wasn’t a reason to be wearing high heels today. I had a meeting with a friend at her son’s school that morning. My job was to check the paperwork to be sure he was getting the special education services he required. Had I worn heels to appear taller so I would appear meaner?

Then I had met Cool-guy for lunch in town.

“Why the heels?” He’d asked.

“The better to kiss you with.” I said, not needing to stretch for the hello kiss.

I don’t know. But. Sometimes it is nice to wear heels in the middle of the day. I spend my days writing in comfy clothes and heels don’t fit into that picture.

Yeah. I know. They didn’t fit into climbing a mountain in the snow, either. I dug through the trunk. No boots. No sneakers. I did find an old hat with a dilapidated tassel hanging from the top. Great. I donned it quickly.

I packed plastic bags around my laptop that was sticking out of my shoulder bag. It was too cold to leave the lettuce in the car. Bad day to go grocery shopping, wasn’t it? Guess I’d be carrying two heavy food bags, too.

I shouldered my laptop, grabbed the bags of groceries and stepped tenderly towards the road. Um. Slippery. No wonder my tires were spinning. Way slippery.

Oh. I know. In order to have mountain views you have to live near the top of the mountain. But this wasn’t the first time I’d noticed that more snow fell on Cool-guy’s road than any other road around.

I began trudging. Slippery. Icy. Step. Slide. Protect the laptop at all costs. I started walking in the deeper snow along the edge of the road. It was still slick. Snow was spilling into my shoes. Cold. Really cold. Have I ever mentioned that I whine when I get cold?

My hands were cold. My feet were cold. I rounded the first hairpin turn and got to the place where my car sputtered and complained. Yeah. Now I could see why. Black ice all over the place. Protect the laptop. Who cares about the lettuce anyway? I walked into the woods to bypass the black ice and turned back to see my little heel marks in the snow. Little foot steps stepping over branches and slippery rocks. Ok. Enough of the woods idea.

Great. All the neighbors would know I’d walked up here in heels. Maybe I should take off my shoes and walk in bare feet. You know. Be a strong mountain woman. Pretend I’m beyond the cold. Cause, surely feet marks would be better than letting these little pointed heel marks follow me all the way home?

One mile. Not so far, right? One mile to be cold. One mile to walk up a hill. One mile of sliding around while carrying two shopping bags. Who said we needed almond butter anyway? I bet the squirrels would love it if I opened the jar and left an anonymous gift in the woods.

I climbed. I huffed. My laptop isn’t known for its lightness. I shifted the bags from hand to hand. I left little pointed marks where I’d walked.

My nose was colder. My ears were really cold. My hat wasn’t working. Where were my hands? I could see why high heels weren’t meant for mountain climbing. They don’t work.

Not one vehicle passed me. Where were the neighbors and why weren’t they around to give me a ride, hear my woes and rub my feet? That’s the LAST time they’d be invited to our Christmas Eve party. Oh. Yeah. They weren’t invited last year.

I approached his driveway, relieved I would make it without losing a toe or having to lighten my load by dropping a trail of groceries. Those little, dainty footsteps had followed me all the way. They would be there to point out my snow hike to anyone who passed by. How unfortunate.

I could see two options for hiding my misfortune. Number One: Change the prints: I could throw on a pair of Cool-guy’s size ten boots and trek down the hill, stomping over each little high heel print till they were completely obliterated. Then I could hike back up the hill in the raging snow storm. Um. No. Who am I kidding? Put on boots to walk a mile down the mountain and a mile back up the mountain? Um. No thanks.

Choice Number Two: The Double Print Caper. Why not?

I took two steps into the driveway and admired the little, tiny prints they made in the snow. Then I stepped next to them and carefully made two more footsteps, as if another woman with identical high heels happened to plop down next to me out of thin air and offer to walk me up his long, steep driveway.

I stepped over in front of my original steps and made several more perfect prints, then stepped in front of the imposter’s set. I hopped back and forth from between the tracks, forgetting how cold I was and how heavy my laptop was and how cumbersome all the groceries were. I happily marked the two delicate trails right up to the front door.

Thus pleased with myself for creating a touch of havoc on nobody in particular, I entered the house in victory.

Cool-guy came home later. I was in the hot tub.

“You walked up the hill?” He asked.

“I did.” I smiled.

“In heels?”

“Yes.” I said, slowly.

He laughed his most exuberant laugh. “I can’t believe you hiked up here in those heels. I wish I could have seen that. It had to be the funniest thing, ever.”

“Nothing funny about it.” I shrugged.

“Did any of the neighbors see you? I’ve got to call all of them. They’re going to die laughing.”

“Sorry. Nobody saw me.”

He stopped laughing. “Then who walked into the house with you when you got here?”

BINGO. “Nobody.” I said, innocently. “I walked in alone.”

“It looks like two sets of tracks leading up to the house.” He insisted. “I figured one of the neighbors helped you carry in the groceries.”

“Nope. Just me.”

My tracker left to inspect the driveway while I stretched out and enjoyed the whole, entire hot tub for myself.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll speculate as to where the deviant workings of my mind come from and try to figure out why I continue to find tiny ways to punish my boyfriend for living on an impassible winter road.

But for now, I’ll relax and watch as a myriad of falling snowflakes melt into steamy water.

Wanna try another column? How about #147, Ready to Know Wine, which is about a trip to Nappa Valley, California.

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Copyright © 2004 by Holly Winter
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