Winter Road by Kristin Butcher

Author:Kristin Butcher [Butcher, Kristin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459815520
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2017-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Highway 304 is completely clear during our drive north, so we make pretty good time. Until we move onto a gravel road riddled with potholes. Of course, Mom slows right down, but even with my seat belt on, I bounce all over the place. When we get to Bloodvein and hang a right onto a narrow track of packed snow, we slow down even more. I check out the speedometer. Fifteen kilometers an hour—that’s it! I could walk faster.

“Why are we going so slow?” I ask.

“This is a winter road,” Mom says. “It only exists a couple of months a year. When the snow melts, the road is gone. It’ll take us where we need to go, but it’s fragile, especially under the weight of a big truck. Driving slow is less likely to compromise it.”

We’re soon deep into the bush, and though the sky is still blue, the sun is lower, and its rays are playing hide-and-seek among the trees. Since the truck takes up practically the whole road, I can’t help wondering what we’ll do if we meet a vehicle coming the other way. But I know this isn’t Mom’s first trip over a winter road, which means she’s probably run into the situation before. So there’s no point in my worrying about it.

Crossing rivers, on the other hand, does make me worry, especially since there are quite a few. It’s not that they’re superwide, but the semi has to go down a bank to get onto them and then climb another on the other side to get back onto land. Mom says bridges have been built over many of the rivers on other winter roads, but that doesn’t help us, and I hold my breath with each crossing.

The scariest section of the road, though, is a spot called Webster’s Corner, a sharp right turn on the slippery road. Mom says more than one semi has overturned here. I hang on to the door and hold my breath until we’re past it.

It’s six o’clock when we get to Round Lake, and though it’s almost dark, Mom decides to put chains on. I offer to help—not that I know what to do—but she says she can handle it. Besides, she wants me to eat. There are prepared meals in the cab’s mini fridge, so I heat one in the microwave and hungrily wolf it down.

When I’m done, I get out of the truck to stretch my legs. Without the sun to warm things up, it feels like winter again, so I zip my jacket, pull up my hood and stuff my hands into my pockets.

Mom has already retrieved the chains from the rack where they hang when not in use and has draped them over the outside tires. She moves the truck backward and forward to get the chains in the right position to lock.

“How come you don’t put them on all the tires?” I ask.

“I need traction, but I don’t want to chew up the ice. It’s a fine line.

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