SALINE COUNTY — The headlights, bright and unexpected, roused us from a fitful sleep.
“Is it the tow truck?” both children asked, their voices laced with hope.
It was almost 6 a.m. on Wednesday. By this time, we had spent nearly eight hours trapped in a Chevy Silverado stuck in snow.
The adventure had started on Christmas Day in Texarkana, the last leg of our journey back to Little Rock after spending the holidays with family in central Texas.
It was there, just before we crossed the state line, that a heavy snow began falling.
“Oh, pretty,” our 9-year-old daughter said.
“Wow,” chimed in her brother, 7.
For the next 30 or so miles, the snow was pretty. And there’s just something magical about snow on Christmas Day.
So we oohed and ahhed and talked about the fun we would have in the snow later. All was joyful. Until, that is, Interstate 30 morphed into a big, snowy, icy mess.
Still, we made good time. My husband, Rick, took it slow and steady. As other cars slid off the highway, spinning down hills and into ditches, we stayed the course.
As longtime journalists at the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, we often cover severe weather. Our family and I-30 go way back, all the way to the infamous ice storms of 2000 and 2001.
After passing the exits for Malvern, we thought the worst was behind us. Benton lay ahead. Surely the interstate would be in better shape there. But just as we approached the exit for U.S. 70 traffic stopped abruptly, causing several cars in front of us to skid. Our pickup, a two-wheel drive, quickly followed suit.
As Rick struggled to regain control, the car next to us drifted in our direction, forcing us off the interstate and onto the exit for 70. No problem. We’d just turn around and get back on 30.
U.S. 70 proved to be ourundoing. Within moments, we went down a steep embankment. Rick got out, grabbed a shovel and dug. He pushed. I pressed the gas pedal. The truck skated back and forth.
A nice man in a pickup with four-wheel drive stopped and tried to help. But after I nearly pulled his truck down the same embankment during an attempted tow, we thanked him and sent him on his way.
We called for a wrecker. But the woman who answered warned us it would be awhile. Even the tow trucks were having trouble.
“I guess we’re here for the night,” Rick said. Our daughter burst into tears. “But it’s Christmas,” she sobbed. “I want to go home.”
I crawled into the back seat with the children, holding them close for warmth while they dozed. Rick reclined the front seat and tried to sleep.Every 30 to 45 minutes, we turned on the truck and ran the heater. Still, it was bitterly cold.
And then, just before dawn, those headlights appeared. A small, black vehicle pulled up next to us and stopped. My husband took one look at the tiny Suzuki and laughed.
“Ain’t no way,” he declared.
The Suzuki’s door opened and a man got out. Minutes later, he leaned into Rick’s window.
“What do you say?” the man drawled.
“Uh. Good morning?” I replied.
The man walked back to the Suzuki and pulled out a chain.
“I’ve been doing this all night, he told Rick as he hitched our truck to his Suzuki. “Told my wife I was going out. She probably wonders what happened to me.”
The kids and I peered out the back window. We felt a sharp yank. And with that one tug, the Suzuki had hauled our Silverado up from the hill and back onto the road.
“You follow me, and I’ll get you back to 30,” the man said.
Rick thrust $60 at him. “No, no,” the man said, backing away. Finally he agreed to take a little of the money for gas.
He climbed into his Suzuki and got us back onto the interstate. As we approached a truck inspection station, our Samaritan exited.
I looked back, wondering what he was up to. He’d found another vehicle mired in the snow.
He got out of his Suzuki, and approached the driver’s side of an 18-wheeler. Rick and I laughed. “That’s like a Chihuahua attacking a great Dane,” Rick sad.
We fell quiet, concentrating on the dicey road conditions ahead. A few minutes later, my husband broke the silence. “You know,” he mused, “he might actually pull it off. I mean, it’s kind of like ‘The Little Suzuki WhoCould.’”
So we thank you, kind stranger, for venturing out into the storm with a tiny vehicle that did big things throughout that long and cold Christmas night.
For us, that random act of generosity meant ever so much more than snowfall on Christmas Day.
Arkansas, Pages 14 on 12/27/2012