Seattle's Got (Snow)Balls

Our gate assignment changed three times and the flight was 90 minutes late. Aside from that, everything was great. So what was the reaction when we landed? Applause, of course. Such was the feeling of amazement when we touched down at Sea-Tac Sunday night. Given how much snow was on the runway and how heavily it was snowing at the time, I think everyone on our plane was incredulous we even landed. A visit to the terminal and a tour of a paralyzed city only confirmed that.

I'd spent the weekend in sun-dappled Tucson, where highs hung out in the mid-60s. But I kept a jealous eye on the weather in Seattle. Jealous, because I'm a geek for snow, or maybe just a geek. I barely missed a snowstorm as I flew out on Thursday morning and I alighted late for the meat of Sunday's event as well -- and I regretted both. I always got excited for snow when I was growing up in New York and snow is rare enough in Seattle. This storm shows how rare.

Looking for ground truth, I checked out highlights of the Seahawks-Jets game from a bar at the Salt Lake City airport during my layover. Yup, it was snowing. But even though the Seahawks beat Brett Favre on the frozen tundra of Qwest Field, at least one Jet got a victory of sorts. Seattle's sports scene is so lame that even when fans win, they lose.

When I got off the plane, I felt I had stepped into Port Authority or Penn Station. People were sleeping on any piece of floor they could find. Loads of cancelled flights threatened to condemn travelers to a scene out of one the lesser-known carols: "Christmas at Sea-Tac." At the baggage claim, orphaned luggage beckoned.

I have a thing about trying to preserve snow on my car as long as possible. One time while living in Maine, I kept snow on the roof of my Subaru for three straight weeks, diligently tending to the base like a ski area groomer. When the last piece of frozen crust flew off while I sped down the Maine Turnpike, a piece of me went with it. So I had high hopes when I returned to my car at Sea-Tac. I wasn't disappointed. Heavy snow and strong winds had created the kind of cornices I'd only seen on exposed mountain ledges. I waved off the broom-wielding parking attendant and brushed off the equivalent of eyeholes on my windshield.

Snow seems to bring back long-ago associations better than most phenomena, so when I pulled onto the snow-packed road, I felt I was back in New York or Maine. Plows had clearly been through, but the road surface didn't appear to be treated with anything (unlike in the Northeast, where salt successfully wages battle against snow and ice). A few cars rattled by with chains, a surprising sight and sound outside the mountains. But State Route 99 did its best impression of Stevens Pass; the dreaded "compact snow and ice" meant my tires never touched ground. It was a ghostly drive home, and what few cars I saw inched along. A pickup truck sat abandoned along the side of the road.

I think it would have taken at least twice as much snow as this to lay low other northern cities. It's nice that we have creative people who make snowpeople like the one pictured above, but why can't they deal with snow here? We don't live in Miami, and snow is always just a mountain trip away. But apparently Armageddon has arrived and its calling card is white. I hope we survive.

If going from Tucson to snow wasn't enough, I got other hints my trip was over. As if to say that I wouldn't be needing my clubs any more, the airline broke the kickstand on my golf bag. But at least it was a gradual comedown from highs in the 60s to chilly Seattle; the temperature in my apartment when I returned was 52 degrees.