The sudden headwind took him by surprise, and he fought to keep the van straight. The road curved and the wind died, but the snow kept coming, and the rotted wipers just pushed smears while the defrosters failed to widen the hole he’d chipped before he started.

The cargo in back shifted as he took another curve. The gravel was better than pavement with snow over it – tires dug in a little, instead of just skidding.

He’d lost track of the intersections – he was going to have to see the reflectors. He knew it came after the paved road – he’d slow down when he saw the stop sign.

The road rose and fell, curving through the pine trees. At the top of one hill, crosswind gusts pushed snow up into his face – a quick white-out that left him white-knuckled and leaning forward, wishing the steering on the old Ford was better, holding his foot on the accelerator to keep the speed up. Fifteen seconds later, this proved to be a serious tactical error, as the van hit the paved road and the wind caught it, broadside.