Snow
Snow
Admiral Biscuit
Poppy’s field faded out and she shifted her belly on the car’s core support. Nopony builds these things so they can be worked on anymore. She reached a foreleg down to her ratchet and gave it an extra shove, ensuring the bolt was clamped down tight—her field could only torque a bolt so tight.
Satisfied, she lifted the ratchet with her field and set it back on the workbench, then pressed against the V-belt with her hoof. Just the right amount of deflection—she knew to keep a new belt just a little tight, since it would stretch as it was worked.
She wiped her forehooves clean with a rag, then slid into the driver’s seat. Pump the accelerator pedal to prime the carb, make sure it’s in neutral and the brake is set, push the starter button. The engine rumbled to life and the belt made one squeal of protest before it set to its appointed task.
One more check under the hood to make sure it was tracking right and not slipping on any of the pulleys. She slammed the hood shut and gave it a quick tug to make sure it was latched. She’d never not closed one all the way, but Dusty had, and Mom had had to pay for a new windshield.
An innocent mistake, but one that had cost them money and lost them a customer . . . it was better to check and make sure.
Poppy got back in the driver’s seat and used her aura to lift the garage door. This car needed the transmission rebuilt; the shifter was loose and it didn’t want to go into reverse gear.
Two grinds later, she got it and backed it out into the parking lot. As much fun as it would be to watch the customer struggle when they left, she was kind and reversed into a parking spot, shut it off, and when she got out, cast her eyes to the western horizon.
Pegasi had promised a storm over the Cucurbita Mountains, and they’d delivered—the tops of the peaks were shrouded in cloud, and it was creeping towards Palomino. There wasn’t snow yet; the clouds hadn’t blotted out the sun yet, but it was coming.
She shivered as a frigid gust blew across the parking lot, stirring up dust. Poppy could smell the snow, still distant but on its way.
•••
By lunchtime, the sun was gone, nothing but a faint bronze disc through the building clouds. They had a short rush of cars fuelling, getting ahead of the storm, and half their afternoon appointments got premptively cancelled.
An hour later, the first flakes started falling, fat and lazy. Just a few at first and then their friends joined them. They melted as soon as they touched the ground but they promised more.
Poppy was fetlock-deep in a recalcitrant carburator. They’d rebuilt it twice already with no major improvement, and the owner of the car the carb was attached to had been almost apologetic as she dropped it off. Everypony knew it was just a bad design, a collection of parts that didn’t work well together. Some tweaking would get it into its sweet spot, and it would be good until the weather changed or fuel prices went up or the full moon came out.
On the plus side, she’d tinkered with it enough that she knew every wrench and screwdriver needed to adjust it. A quarter turn of the mixture screw which always worked its way out no matter what she did, then a little twist on the automatic choke and it was almost good again. Some ponies might let it go at that, but Poppy knew that the fast idle cam also liked to malfunction. A gentle magic caress on the linkage and everything fell back into its proper place.
Outside, a transformation had happened. The fat flakes had given way to a more purposeful snow, and now it was sticking, smoothing out their gravel parking lot and blurring sharp edges. The wind had picked up, not enough to be unpleasant, but enough to angle the snow as it fell.
The owner of the car was waiting in the office, either reading old magazines or chatting with Dusty. That wasn’t her concern; she parked the car out front and hollered in to the office that it was done, then returned to her oil-soaked castle. By the time she opened the back door of the shop, snow had already accumulated on her back and mane.
Poppy shook off as much as she could and stepped into the shop. Only one more project stood between her and freedom.
•••
The sun hadn’t set yet, but there was no way to know that by looking outside. The sky was a dusky grey and the snow drove down, already having buried the town. Poppy watched as the town snowplow drove by, its yellow beacon painting the building as it passed.
She did a quick mental check. The air compressor was shut off, her tools were put away, the doors were locked.
Poppy stuck her muzzle in the front door. “Hey, Dusty, I’m done. Gonna go out driving unless you need anything.”
“Driving?”
Poppy nodded.
“In this?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Dusty didn’t really understand, and that’s why he worked the counter and the gas pumps. “Because it’s fun.”
•••
Poppy’s car was already covered with a blanket of snow. She used her foreleg to brush off the border of the door, frowning as some snow got sucked inside anyway.
She turned and flicked as much off with her tail as she could, then sat down in her seat. Two pumps of the accelerator pedal to prime the carb, make sure the parking brake was set, and twist the key.
The Speedwell Ironworks straight-eight rumbled to life, grumbling at the cold. She could hear it misfiring and feel the vibrations in the seat and the steering wheel—they’d go away once the engine started to warm up.
Before leaving the car to its own devices, she scanned the instrument panel. Everything looked good; aside from the coolant temperature, everything was settling into its normal operating range.
She slid the heater controls to full heat, defrost, and then got out and closed the door behind her. There was a snow brush somewhere in the office, and she’d need that if she didn’t want to wait half an hour or more for the car’s heater to melt all the snow on the windows.
Some of it will blow off when you start driving. That wasn’t a responsible thought; Mom had chided her before for not clearing all the snow off the wrecker.
It was rude to let it blow off the car and onto the road.
It was also fun to watch in the rearview mirror, and Orchid wasn’t here. . . .
Poppy pushed the office door open. “Just me again.”
“Didja change your mind about driving in the snow?” Dusty was back in the cooler, restocking their sodas.
“Nope, just looking for the snowbrush.”
“I think it’s back in the shop.”
“What? Why?”
There was a clinking of bottles before Dusty replied. “She had me clean out the front office, and that’s where I put it. So unless somepony moved it, it should still be there.”
“Where?”
“With all the other stuff for the wrecker. The extra chains and bridle and those crates of spare parts.”
“Thanks, Dusty.” She hesitated, then walked across the office to the cooler. “Any sandwiches getting rotated out?”
“Couple of daisy and spinach ones expire tomorrow. You hungry again?”
“Might be before I get back.” Poppy opened the door to the sandwich fridge. It wasn’t quite as fancy as the one at the automat. That one would rotate sandwiches and you could put a coin in and open the door and get the one you wanted without having to sort through them.
She found the almost-expired sandwiches and set them on the front counter, decided to grab a bag of salted alfalfa crisps, too, and scribbled out a quick IOU.
The snow brush was right where Dusty had said it was, and she cleaned off the windows and mirrors. A few clumps of snow were still stuck on the rear windows. The windshield had warmed up enough that the spots she missed were quickly melting.
It hadn’t warmed up enough yet to un-freeze the wiper blades. That was a thing she’d forgotten to check in the past, and learned her lesson from it. Blades that were frozen to the glass couldn’t clean the windshield. Her field unstuck them, and flexed them enough to crack the ice free.
She tossed the brush on the passenger side floor, then followed it into the car. The door closed with a satisfying clunk, shaking some snow loose in the process.
One last scan of the gauges. All good. The engine had smoothed out and settled down to an eager purr.
Time to drive. She released the parking brake and pressed in the clutch. As she shifted into first gear, the stresses of the day started to melt away, much like the snowflakes still landing on the windshield.
Dusty just didn’t understand the pure, unbridled joy of having a car to command, to take her wherever she wanted to go. To see the road unroll in front of her, stretching to the horizons or twisting up through the mountains, with each hill and curve hiding what was beyond.
Some roads she knew like the back of her hoof; others were strange and unfamiliar. She’d ridden in the wrecker since she was old enough to use the controls, and that had given her a good understanding of the roads and where cars got wrecked. She knew all the deceptively dangerous curves by memory.
Poppy eased the car onto the main road, goosing the throttle as it crossed into its lane. The back end kicked out before following the front wheels—even here, the roads were slick, and the mountain roads would be worse.
Just what she was hoping for.
•••
The roads in town were nearly deserted. Most ponies didn’t like driving in the snow if they could help it.
She slowed and gave way as the school bus passed, its seats full of foals who couldn’t wait to get home and play in the snow. She couldn’t fault them; wasn’t she doing the same?
Poppy blipped her horn and waved as she passed by the mailmare, then passed her truck a few blocks later. That was a truck she knew well; it was a frequent customer. Just last week she’d put new brakes on it, the second set this year. This time they’d tried a new kind of brake shoes that had been advertised in a catalog; they were supposed to last longer. Time would tell.
Just past the village limits, the road wasn’t plowed. Their snowplow was only responsible for the streets in town; the highway department did the highway. Her Friskysport wiggled under her as it crossed into deeper snow and found its footing.
She kept a firm grip on the wheel as it settled in. It might have been her imagination, but the snow already looked more intense. Mountain snows always went the same way—the pegasi would set them up to coat the mountains and provide plenty of meltwater for the reservoirs in the spring, and then the storm would start to go feral and creep its way down the mountain, sometimes ending before it got to Palomino and sometimes spilling out into the desert valley below. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t try and keep it over the mountains.
Whyever it was, letting the storms go was more fun for her.
•••
The highway was straight for as long as it could be, and then the terrain necessitated turns. The first didn’t rate a warning sign for uphill traffic. Poppy knew it was there, and she was still caught by surprise as she came up on it. All the snow was covering familiar landmarks.
Everything was changed by the snow; even the noise of the tires was muted.
She hit the brake and clutch together and slammed the transmission down a gear as the rear end wagged, started to swing out, and then she let off both pedals simultaneously. The engine revved and the rear end straightened out; now that the car had found its traction again, Poppy guided it through the curve, keeping a good line rather than worrying about staying in her lane.
Even if she’d wanted to, the road and all its markings were completely obscured by the blanket of white.
Going fast is for down the mountain she reminded herself. Out on the desert hardpan where it’s straight and level and you can see forever. Not up here where the roads are twisty and have cliffs and dropoffs.
Especially in the snow. She patted the car on its dash to reassure it that yes, she was paying attention, she was a responsible driver, even if she’d gotten carried away for a moment.
The car purred happily in reply.
•••
As she climbed the mountain, the wind picked up, driving the snow against the windshield hard enough that she could hear it hit.
Other traffic was nonexistant—anypony headed east would have already stopped and waited for it to clear. She had the highway to herself.
A moment of doubt crept into her mind. Sure, she’d told Dusty that she was going out driving, but she hadn’t told him where. If she slid off the road, nopony would find her until the plow came through, and that might not be until the storm ended.
At least I’ll have some sandwiches to eat while I wait. Except she wouldn’t, because she’d been so eager to leave, she’d forgotten them on the counter.
Well, I'll just have to keep it on the road.
She focused ahead, her eyes on the pony-made pavement path through the trees and rocky outcroppings. The car had a full tank of fuel and everything mechanical on it was sound—she’d been through it enough times to know that. As long as she didn’t do anything dumb, it would take her wherever she wanted to go, be it dry desert lakebed or snowy mountain pass.
Poppy knew it inside and out, had built it up from an abandoned hulk on weekends and on slow afternoons in the shop, constantly tweaking and improving it to something far better than the Meadows-Frisky company had ever imagined. It could be fast when she wanted it to be, but it wans’t a one-trick-pony, built for speed over everything. It was reliable and consistent, ready to take on any road in its path.
And she was, too. So what if the lane markers couldn’t be seen? She’d just keep to the middle until there was oncoming traffic, and then they’d both slow down and inch their way around each other, same as any of the narrow dirt roads that twisted their way up into mountain settlements.
There was a strange, soft beauty to the snow-covered world. Pine trees drooped with all the snow on their fronds, while deciduous trees carried it on their skeletons. Rocky outcroppings were smoothed out, and little ditches were filled entirely, traps for the unwary.
•••
On one hoof, being out in a storm like this when she didn’t have to be was foalish. On another, prudence would carry her through. She shifted down to second as the snow intensified, coating the windshield for an instant before the wipers could take care of it.
Without wind from the slipstream to take care of it, snow started to pile up at the base of the windshield. In a way, it was a blessing—the windshield gaskets weren’t all that great, and cold air always came through the base. The snow filled the cracks, froze, and blocked the draft.
Poppy had decided she was going to make the summit before turning around. That was a worthy goal. And if she wanted, she could stop in Hot Springs on the way back and get a meal at the diner.
All her focus was on driving, so she didn’t really feel hungry.
On a good day, if she was playing fast and loose with the speed limit, she could get to Hot Springs in half an hour. Today . . . she didn’t know what time it was becasue her Friskysport wasn’t equipped with a clock, but she could tell the light was fading.
She perked her ears as she passed a familiar billboard for the Hot Springs Resort. Snow had obscuried the message, but the shape was still visible.
Five more miles. It’d just be dark when she arrived.
Unless the snow got worse.
•••
The snowflakes blurred in her headlights, making her dizzy. High beams didn’t help; they made it worse. Poppy flicked the switch in frustration and dropped her speed even more.
A prudent driver slows for weather. She frowned at the memory; she was becoming her mom.
The car goaded her on, its straight eight grumbling as she relaxed her hoof on the throttle. It wanted to go, and she was holding it back.
The weather demanded it, and she patted the dashboard. Mare and machine were one, each of them cooperating to reach the summit.
Everything was snowed over, the road was nothing more than a memory in the blowing snow. Poppy drove in the center, only easing over and slowing to a crawl whenever she spotted oncoming headlights.
A row of marker lights, and through the slipstream she spotted a familiar logo on the door of the passing semi. Too late to wave but she did anyway—Prairie Fire wasn’t letting any grass grow under her hooves.
Would she stop in Palomino? At least Dusty was still at the counter if she did.
Poppy eased back into the center of the road, following the imagined double-stripe. Driving in snow was fun, but now it was starting to get intense enough she was having second thoughts. She could turn around.
Carefully, unless she found a side road to nose into. She’d been up to Hot Springs a few times and knew the road for the most part, but couldn’t picture any side roads in her mind.
Granted, with the current lack of traffic, even if she drove past one, she could just reverse in her lane—or the center of the road, where she was currently driving.
A gust rocked the car and blew past the weathstripping, then the heater shrugged it off. For a moment, she focused on the snowflakes melting when they hit the windshield, only to be swept away a moment later by the wipers. And then . . . even at full blast, the defroster was struggling to keep up. The snow piled at the edge of the sweep of the wipers, and it clung to the rear windows. She couldn’t see anything but snow in her rearview mirror.
•••
WELCOME TO HOT SPRINGS
Poppy grinned as the sign appeared in her headlights—she’d made it to the top of the pass.
Well, not technically the top; Hot Springs claimed it was at the top of the pass, but the actual marker was a couple more miles up the road. There was a small picnic area where, in good weather, you could watch traffic go by or look at rocks and the scrub brush that grew on rocks. There were even a few hearty—if stunted—pine trees doing their best to shade the single picnic table.
Hot Springs didn’t have much to offer, save for a restaurant that catered to drivers and the eponymous hot springs. Those weren’t actually in the town proper, but there was a narrow road to the resort, and somepony had piped the hot springs into town, terminating in a public fountain and a small bronze sign.
Poppy wondered if there was ever enough snow to cover the fountain. The heater in her Friskysport was having trouble keeping the edges of the windshield clear.
She glanced at the diner as she drove past. The parking lot was nearly empty but not entirely deserted, and the lights were on inside.
Her stomach grumbled at her. It could wait; she’d made it this far and she was close enough to the summit it would be foalish to not finish the drive there.
Sometimes the Hot Springs constable liked to hide and catch speeders—the speed limit inside the village was lower, and it often caught downhill drivers unaware. She’d been pulled over before; she’d had to run a part up to Red Yucca, who ran his own repair shop out of his homestead, just west of the village. She hadn’t been paying attention on her way back down the hill, and she’d been rewarded by a red beacon in her rearview mirror just outside the Hot Springs Hotel.
He’d let her off with a warning, and an admonishment to drive more cautiously in the future. He recognized her from the wrecker, and she couldn’t decide if she should feel guilty for not getting a fine she deserved or grateful for the professional courtesy.
There wasn’t much chance he’d be out tonight; any speeders would be sliding sideways down the mountain and couldn’t stop even if they wanted to—they’d fetch up wherever they did, and Mom would be there to pick them up with the wrecker.
Or she would . . . there was every chance that tomorrow morning instead of working in the shop, she’d be in charge of the wrecker, which meant she shouldn’t stay out too late playing in the snow.
•••
She almost missed the turnoff. The winds at the peak of the pass were confused, blowing the snow in all directions. Her headlights were ineffective more than two or three car-lengths in front of her, and Poppy’s focus was locked squarely on the center of the road, not off to the side. A sign coated in snow was nearly indistinguishable from everything else, and if the wind hadn’t shifted just as she was alongside the driveway, she might have missed it entirely.
As it was, even at her cautious speed, she overshot. There were no cars on the highway behind her, so she just reversed, watching her mirrors carefully. If she backed off the road, there was no chance she’d be able to extract herself, and with no other traffic, hitching a ride was a foal’s errand.
The highway department might have made a pass at some point during the snowstorm, but they certainly hadn’t wasted any effort at clearing out the parking lot for a roadside attraction which, at the best of times, was only vaguely interesting.
She approached it with caution, creeping over the shallow drifts until she was in the parking lot proper.
It wasn’t a big parking lot. Not very many ponies stopped here, and since it was sitting in the saddle between two mountain peaks, there wasn’t a lot of room anyway. It was big enough for her to have some fun with her car, first using the throttle to kick the rear end out, then let it loop all the way around, watching the headlights sweep around the few snow-covered trees, bushes, and picnic table. Then she backed down the driveway and came into the lot with some speed, letting the car slide sideways through the parking lot.
She stopped long enough to get out, trot over to the obelisk that commerated the summit, stomp out her initials in the snow, and then duck back into her car before her coat got too snowy.
It hadn’t felt as cold as it was when she was outside, but when she got back in the car, it felt overheated, almost stifling.
She rolled her window down—the heater was working as hard as it could to keep the windshield clear, and she didn’t want to turn its output down.
•••
Even though there was no traffic, she still came to a complete stop at the entrance to the highway, looked both ways, looked right again, and then found her lane. The tire tracks from her Friskysport were still visible.
Going downhill was more dangerous than going uphill. On an uphill grade, if she took her foot of the accelerator pedal, the car would stop eventually; going downhill even the brakes might not stop her, if her tires couldn’t get a good grip. She’d hit a few small patches of ice on the way up and was sure to hit them again on her way back down.
Her car wanted to go faster, and she had to be careful to not let it. Keeping the transmission a gear lower helped; now instead of producing power, the engine was helping to brake her. She thought it was a similar idea to the sea anchors that ships sometimes used in storms.
Poppy’s stomach grumbled again, and not for the first time she thought about the sandwiches and crisps that were still back at the gas station. Maybe Dusty had eaten them, or maybe he’d put them away and torn up her IOU.
At least she’d remembered her bit purse, or else she’d have been chewing snow and nibbling on pine fronds at Summit Park.
Some pony pioneers had subsisted on that as they tried to cross the mountains. At least, that was what the history books said.
•••
Poppy turned her car into the diner’s parking lot. No attempt had been made to clear it; she followed the tracks of a delivery truck and parked next to it. The truck looked familiar, but had enough snow on it that she couldn’t read the company name.
She backed into a nearby spot, leaving the nose of her Friskysport pointed towards the highway. Judging by the snow piled around and on the delivery truck, her car was going to pick up some drifts when she ate dinner, and it would be easier to just go straight out.
After setting the parking brake, she turned off the headlights and then the ignition. It was eerily silent without the car running.
Poppy sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, watching snow hit the windshield, melt, and trickle down the still-warm surface, then the snow started to build up on the windshield wipers and around the edges of the window frame.
A gust rocked the car and whistled through the seams of the doors and windows. Outside, the snow in the parking lot whipped up and obscured the diner before it settled back into a steady snowfall.
Poppy unlatched the door and stepped into the parking lot, trotting towards the inviting entrance of the diner. She could already smell tasty, greasy food.
The diner was usually busy, but today it was nearly dead—it lived by the highway, and today there was no traffic.
She picked a booth near the window, and watched the snow falling until the waiter came over. “Can I get you started with anything, ma’am?”
Ma’am. He was at most three years her junior.
Poppy didn’t need a menu. All the diners served the same things, and she’d eaten here plenty of times. “Coffee, black; a hayburger with salted carrots on the side, and—do you have pumpkin pie today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Pumpkin pie for dessert, please.”
He nodded and walked towards the kitchen, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Sometimes when she was alone in a restaurant, she ponywatched; sometimes she stared out the window and watched the cars and trucks go by. Today she watched the snow fall, watched the wind kick up zephyrs of snow and push drifts against everything.
A yellow beacon caught her attention, and she watched the Hot Springs snowplow trundle by, kicking snow and sparks off its plow. Her supper arrived before it came back through town, clearing the other lane.
It wouldn’t stay clear; the snow was still falling, and the wind was still blowing it around, but keeping the road as clear as they could was prudent.
Poppy turned her attention to her hayburger. Grassy and greasy, just how she liked them. Just how everypony on the road liked them.
Her carrots were undersalted and limper than she preferred, but they were okay, and the pie made up for it. As best she knew, every single diner had a little granny supplying pies, all hoofmade with the freshest ingredients.
She accepted a second refill of her coffee, drank it, and then put some bits on the table to cover her tab and a tip.
•••
It was colder than she remembered outside. It hadn’t felt as cold when she got out at the summit, and she wondered if the temperature had dropped more, or if she’d just gotten used to the heat in the diner. Maybe it was the hot coffee that had warmed her up inside, so her outside felt colder.
If it could have shivered, her Friskysport would have been. The snow had finally overcome the heat from the engine and cabin, sticking to every surface on the car. As much as she didn’t want to, she was going to have to stay outside and brush it off.
Once again, she wiped the snow off around the door to keep it from sucking too much in when the door was opened. She took a moment to start it, as well. When she turned the key on, the temperature gauge came up off its peg ever so slightly—Speedwell Ironworks built big beefy blocks, and she found their engines kept their heat for a long time.
There was no need to prime the carb; the engine cranked over a couple times before catching, idling rough until it finally settled into an easy rhythm.
Even though it would be a few minutes before she’d be on the road, she turned on her headlights: the heat from the bulbs would help melt the snow and ice that had accumulated on them. She held her hoof over the defroster vent to make sure it was working. It was—the heat output wasn’t great, but it was warmer than the outside air, and not bad for having just been started.
Then she grabbed the snowbrush in her aura and reluctantly got back out of the car.
•••
The wind toyed with her, sometimes sending brushed snow back into her face. All the windows had been warm enough to melt the snow at first, and it had refrozen into a lumpy glaze that even the scraper barely wanted to touch.
She should have started the car before her last cup of coffee, let it warm up some.
Poppy looked back at the diner, considering her options, then turned back to the windshield, attacking it again with the edge of the scraper.
She knew a water-heating spell that might work on ice, but it took a lot of energy to cast, and tiring herself out casting spells at her car was dumb. Especially since she probably wouldn’t melt all that much ice, anyway.
They got automotive magazines in the shop, most of which got read cover-to-cover in the outhouse and then left for the customers who waited or who needed to use the bathroom. She’d seen a thawing hose advertised which stuck in the tailpipe and could be passed over windows or whatever else to melt snow and ice. She was skeptical of it actually working as advertised; she could stand just behind the exhaust of her car and it wasn’t that hot.
If she had mail-ordered one, this would have been the perfect time to test it out.
•••
She finally got the windshield and side windows de-iced enough that she had decent vision. There was still ice in the corners, but the defroster was starting to melt that. With the snow at her back on the way down the pass, she thought that the defroster would be able to take care of it on the way back to Palomino; if not, she could stop on a flatter section of road and attack it again with the scraper.
Poppy used the snowbrush on herself, getting as much windblown and new-fallen snow out of her coat and hair before getting back into the car. She released the parking brake, and let off the clutch, and the car didn’t go anywhere until there was an audible crack from the rear.
Did my brake shoes freeze to the drums? They must have.
Once the car was moving, she goosed the throttle to kick the rear end around, pointing herself to the driveway and the mound of snow that the plow had put in her path. Unlike the drifts, which behaved almost like sand, this was a compacted mass and she felt the suspension bottom out as the car climbed over it, and then she was on the road again.
She kicked the tail of her car around one more time, and then aimed down the mountain.
•••
The wind at her back cut down on gusts in the car, and the windshield wipers didn’t have to work so hard.
On her way up the mountain pass, Poppy had a vague worry that her wheels would slip on ice, she’d lose her forward momentum, and she’d never be able to get going again.
Going downhill, if she lost traction she would keep going, at least until some obstruction stopped her forward progress.
She could do like locomotive crews did and jump—join the birds as they called it. Or stick to her post like ship captains did, and go down with her Friskysport.
Poppy frowned. There was no reason to think like that; she was a good driver, and she knew her car inside and out. She’d built it herself, after all. Everything was in nearly-perfect mechanical order. She’d taken the wrecker through weather almost like this and it wasn’t nearly as good in the snow, despite having more tires in the back that ought to give it better traction.
They didn't.
Just the same, her eye kept returning to the speedometer. It would be all too easy to get impatient or just forget to pay attention for a few minutes, and then she’d be going too fast to stop on the slick pavement.
Now that the snow was coming down from behind her, the flakes looked different in the sweep of her headlights. No longer were they a vision-obscuring blur; instead, they almost looked frozen in front of her.
She kept her speed down and frequently checked her rearview mirror for other downbound traffic. Other drivers might not be as safety-conscious as she was.
•••
The final few flakes of snow drifted down around her. She had no idea where she was; every road sign was completely obscured by snow, and it was either too dark or too bright to see any familiar landmarks—the white snow masked things, and the moon was still hidden behind the last few clouds. Every now and then, she could see its pale disc through a thin spot, and then it was gone again.
Her car purred happily, the defroster had melted the windshield and side windows clear, and all the radium-painted needles on the instrument panel were in their normal range. The car wasn’t working hard at all; if she was being honest, gravity was doing most of the work and in theory she could turn off the engine and coast all the way back to Palomino.
Big trucks did that sometimes. Prairie Fire had told her all about it, and how stupid and dangerous it was.
Her mind flashed back to the wreck of a semi, crumpled up like a tin can somepony had stepped on. They hadn’t been able to do much; their wrecker wasn’t big enough to haul it out of the ravine, although they’d been able to pull what was left of the cab clear so rescue ponies could go in . . . the remains of the truck had sat there for weeks before a big salvage rig had hauled it back up to the road and carried it off.
She checked her speedometer again, just to make sure that the speed wasn’t creeping up, then focused back on the road.
•••
A lot of ponies didn’t like driving at night, which was something the big trucks sometimes took advantage of—but now she was the only vehicle on the road. Nothing was coming up the pass, which either meant that drivers had taken one look at the road and decided to stay in Palomino until the road was clear, or the pass had been closed, and nopony in Hot Springs had gotten the word.
Being all alone on the highway was weird. It was like she was in a different world, one made just for her and her car. Halfway down, she was starting to wish for something else to show up, but there was nothing. Not even tire tracks in the snow. The ones she’d left on the way up were long gone, and nopony had been through since then.
Poppy slowed for a curve, felt the rear end of the car slip out before it caught again. Her hoof was gentle on the brake; if she locked up a wheel the car would spin and then she’d be riding it however far it made it down the mountain before crashing.
With no other traffic in either direction, she could take the curve however she wanted. The car slid out farther than she’d intended, and she felt the tires drop off the pavement and onto the gravel shoulder.
Rather than try and recover right away, she kept the wheels against the edge of the pavement by feel, waiting until there was a straight section to migrate back to the center of the road. Slow, deliberate driving would get her to the bottom of the pass.
•••
She hadn’t known where she was until she went around a series of S-curves. At night, she knew she should be able to see Palomino’s lights.
Poppy saw nothing. The storm clouds had moved past her, but not past her home, not yet.
But the clouds were clearing, and the moonlight was starting to illuminate the lonely road. On either side, pine trees drooped low under the weight of all the snow. The road glittered like it was sprinkled with diamond dust, painfully reflecting back in her eyes.
The purring engine and the blower fan weren’t enough to cover the crunch of tires on fresh snow. The air was completely still outside, crisp and clean and studded with stars.
It was beautiful.
Poppy yawned—the heat from the car and the hayburger she’d just eaten were making her tired, and she knew that tired drivers made mistakes. Some cold winter air would refresh her.
There wasn’t anywhere to pull off the road, but then there wasn’t any other traffic on the road. She slowed to a stop, set the parking brake, and opened the door.
Outside it was silent, no noise but the steady beat of her exhaust and the squeaky crunch of her hoofsteps as she walked around the back of her car.
All the light snow it had picked up in its wake had completely covered the rear end, even the tail lights. Only a faint red glow was visible through the snow—that was something worth remembering, if she did come upon another car who was in the mountains.
She brushed the lenses clear with her hoof, wondering how long they’d stay clear. Maybe until she got back home, maybe not. It might be worth stopping on the outskirts of Palomino . . . then again, Palomino had street lights.
Poppy wasn’t worried about overrunning another car on the mountain pass. If it was running in front of her, it would leave tracks, and she hadn’t seen any. There were only her own tire tracks stretching up the mountain until they were lost to sight; all the other snow was fresh and undisturbed.
Sooner or later, another car or truck was going to make its way down the mountain, or maybe the highway plow truck would. What would they think of the single pair of tire tracks leading down to the desert?
Would it be a kindred soul, somepony who also liked driving in the snow? Or somepony who thought she was a maniac for trying?
She took a few steps uphill and looked around her, at the empty road and the silent forest clinging to the side of the mountain, then she cast her eyes upward, to the increasingly starbright sky. Everything was so quiet and peaceful.
Some of the prospectors who worked up in the mountains, scrabbling at the earth to find its treasures would have this kind of solitude all the time.
It was nice, but Poppy thought it was better as a sometimes thing, rather than an all the time thing. She’d get lonely if it was just her in the wilds all day long.
Poppy took one final look down the mountain, finally catching sight of the lights of Palomino, then she got back in her car for the final leg of her journey.
•••
There was always a comforting feeling in getting home. Passing the WELCOME TO PALOMINO sign, even if she couldn’t read it—like everything else, it was obscured with snow.
The houses were welcoming, and the street lights were familiar. Even under their humps of snow, she recognized cars of friends and customers alike.
A few ponies were out in the streets. Adolescent fillies and colts who knew they had a snow day tomorrow were engaged in an epic snow fight in the park. She was tempted to join them. It hadn’t been that long since she’d graduated school.
Closer to the center of town, some ponies were milling about the tavern, either headed to or from. Some of them appeared to be admiring the snow, while others obviously hated it.
Clavier waved at her as she drove by. He was a good customer even if his panel van was a piece of junk that should have been put out to pasture years ago.
Down a side street she saw the plow truck making its rounds. It was keeping the center of town clear, at least. She wondered who was on duty tonight. Sometimes they’d stop by the shop and chat when she or Orchid were out in the lot late.
Poppy slowed down as she reached the penultimate intersection. She could see Frost’s Service ahead, and the temptation to blow the stop sign was strong.
She settled on a rolling stop, hoping that Constable Copper wasn’t patrolling the block. He couldn’t catch her on hoof—well, maybe he could in this weather—but he knew where she lived and wouldn't hesitate to go to the shop to admonish her.
The wrecker was parked under the canopy, next to the pump island, and all the outside lights were off except the one above the service door. Poppy pulled her Friskysport up against the shop, gave its dashboard a loving pat, then shut off the key, her ears ringing in the sudden silence.
Save for the windows and headlights, the entire car was coated in a dusting of snow and ice, thickest on the back. The bottoms of the running boards were coated with powdered snow, while the wheel arches were filled with slush that hung almost to the ground.
Poppy kicked at one of the slush chunks. A few bits chipped off, but it didn’t move—it was solidly attached to her car.
She could pull it into the shop, let it thaw, but she decided that it wouldn’t mind being out in the snow. The only time the car was inside was when it had to be worked on, and she thought if she put it in the shop it might think that it was going to be repaired. Nothing was broken, but if it thought it was going to get worked on, something might by the morning.
Poppy took one last look at her car and the nearly silent, snow-covered town before kicking her hooves off on the back step and opening the door.