I got them (snow chains) on eventually, and wit sore knees and wet sleeves
climbed back into the car. Frozen, bloody fingers steered us gingerly around
the next corner, with the chains flailing the bodywork and making a dreadful
noise. We tiptoed down the mountain,passing a couple of cars in ditches and at
least one worryingly car-sized gap in the snow bank that stood between us and
utter blackness. At the bottom of the hill we spent another 30 minutes
untangling the chains from the rear suspension. Then came more snow and the
little Triumph slid slowly into a ditch on the inside of a steep uphill curve.
It was 5am.
The next hour was, frankly, bloody awful; like trying to climb up the down
escalator to hell, pushing the devil's own burden in front of us. We couldn't
evenstand on the ice and the car was too deeply embedded to attempt fitting
the chains, so we tried driving out, slipping the clutch until the whole
montainside was wreathed in expensive, acrid smoke and there were no gears
left in the 'box. We put floor mats down to aid traction, and watched the
wheels spit them out into the darkness. We tried pushing the car sideways,
back on to the road, but it threatened to slip from our fingers and toboggan
(slide) into the trees far below. Meanwhile oncoming headlights heralded
showers of ice and an enforced pause as cars burbled past; just one, an Austin
Westminster complete with a police sign on the roof and a bell on the front,
failed to make it, slithering into the snow bank a few yards up the hill. Its
crew, James Ewing and Keith Webster, both dressed in full (British) police
uniform, climbed out and started to dig. Laugh ? I nearly froze to death.
More in part 5, tomorrow night,
I'm off to bed!
L
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