Ice Day 2

I had to run an errand up in northern Connecticut this weekend. I drove up yesterday, 250 miles in about four and a half hours driving time. Beautiful sunny day and a gorgeous drive.

I stayed over at a hotel in Waterbury and set out early this morning, figuring I’d have a nice explore on the way back.

I wandered through southwestern Connecticut, eventually finding myself on the Merritt Parkway near Bridgeport, then beat feet for the Tappan Zee (I won’t drive through New York City on a bet–that’s what trains are for).

Wanting a change, I decided to avoid the Garden State (which I know far too well) and take I-287 to drop down to the Jersey Turnpike and thence homewards.

Where 287 takes off south from the New York State Thruway, the country is pretty remote (yes, there is remote country in northwestern New Jersey–not much of it, but it’s there; people get attacked by bears). Persons were driving slowly, with their flashers on.

As I approached the second long hill, which, from the map, appears to be a spur of Campgaw Mountain, people were driving very slowly–like 10-15. There was a light rain which promptly turned to ice when it hit the road way. I made it up the hill, but only by planting one foot on the rumble strip along the shoulder; I knew that if I pulled over on the upstroke, I’d never get moving again. Once I crested the hill, I pulled over with three or four other folks and waited.

About 15 minutes later, the police closed the hill. The picture shows the line of northbound traffic poised at the foot of the hill.

According to the radio, New Jersey was pretty much closed by ice on the highways north of Passaic and west of the Garden State, as was New York north of Tarrytown.

After an hour or so (by now it was about 12:30), a salt truck came by and we followed it. Over the next hill. Where we stopped at the interchange with US-202. The hill after that, where 287 makes a big swing to the left to cut through Ringwood State Park was also closed.

Two hours later, the local fire department herded us (except for the big trucks) through a U-turn the wrong way down an entrance ramp onto West Oakland Avenue in beautiful Oakland, New Jersey, a nice little town (really, it is. Plus I know persons from Oakland) but one not equipped to absorb the traffic from a closed interstate. We followed the road through Pompton Lakes and back to 287. (Fortunately, I had gassed up leaving Waterbury, so I was able to stay warm. I passed the time by moaning about my plight to persons via the cell phone.)

I will give the local authorities credit for stationing police cars at crucial intersections to keep us out of help us find our way through town.

The ramp to the New Jersey Turnpike never looked so good.