Six days in the Caribbean was plenty. Curious, we kept a close eye on the weather here and being the foolish folks that we can be, were a little saddened by missing the storm. It was nice of course, strolling around the islands in 80 degree temps, but not being able to share the Nebraska experience was somewhat disheartening.
Landing at Eppley in Omaha, we knew what to expect as we made our way to the parking garage, dressed in just enough clothing as not to sweat profusely on the plane or freeze our tail feathers off as we journeyed to our vehicle. I was wearing slip on casual shoes without socks, a T-shirt and a light jacket.
The drive north on 275 was smooth and the roads were clear, far different from the texted pictures from family and friends, and Margaret’s monitoring of the Department of Roads cameras along highways 81 and 20. The temperature was hovering at 3 degrees with a “feels like” of -14. The winds were light.
The road widening construction between Fremont and Norfolk is progressing nicely and when it’s finished, it'll be a wee bit quicker and a wee bit safer than traveling on two lanes. There are still some spots where the barricades and the signage warn drivers to slow down and take extra caution. The car in front of us about a mile or so was not paying attention.
As we rounded a long curve just south of Scribner, a burst of snow appeared from nowhere, blinding the view, orange safety cones lay strewn about in an awkward configuration.
I panicked for a second, believing I had missed a detour or the road completely; that’s when Margaret pointed and gave me an audible OMG kind of comment.
The car in front had rolled, maybe two or three times, debris was scattered and it rested on its side in the west ditch. I put our vehicle deep into the east ditch, wanting to avoid additional traffic coming from either direction. Activating the flashers, I zipped up, grabbed my stocking cap and starting running. Margaret said she was calling 911.
As I climbed the plowed snow bank to reach the car, a man was frantically trying to climb up and out the busted passenger window. His size and the condition of the wreckage would not allow that to occur. From within, I can hear someone moaning, they’re pinned and are in pain but I couldn’t see them. The sunroof was partially busted loose. I told him to hang on; I’ll get him out, yanking and pulling several times before breaking it free. “Who else is in the car?” I yelled.
“They’re hurt,” he yelled back. “Who is it?” “They’re hurt,” was all I could get. “Is it a man or a woman?” The moaning continued, louder.
“It’s my wife.”
Finally squeezing through the opening, he took a knee next to the car, catching his breath. I crawled inside using my phone's flashlight.
She is horizontal on her back, stuck between the rear passenger seat and sidewall. She is in pain, but awake and alert, still moaning. “Don’t move, help is coming,” I said.
“I’m freezing,” she tells me. I run to my truck, grabbing a blanket we purchased on the trip. I’m shivering uncontrollably. Other travelers are now helping as we cover her. Fire & Rescue are converging; the Calvary has arrived. I return to my truck, stuck, and shaking from the cold. Everyone is shaking from the cold.
The men and women who volunteer for such things as this – no matter the town, the hour or the emergency, are heroes. They are all to be commended for what they give of themselves.
An EMT tells me thank you before the ambulance rolls southward toward Fremont. The fire crew uses push brooms to clean the road. A tow truck arrives for the wreckage. Two young farm kids hook up to my hitch and pull me free. I slowly pull away northbound, feeling relief. I’m headed home, toward the great people that live there and those who are there in our time of need.
