We have had about an
inch or two of
snow today in
Cincinnati. It
has given me an
opportunity to
partake of one of my
favorite
pastimes: watching
large trucks try to get up my
street.
First, a word about my street, Sachem Avenue. It dead ends into a
park. The neighborhood is the oldest in Cincinnati, boasting a
lot of Victorian homes. Ours is an original, dating back to
1890. Sachem is also on a hill. It is, perhaps, a quarter-mile
long, but we gain about two hundred feet by the end of the
street. My house is perhaps a third of the way up, about sixty feet
gain from the base.
The first two-thirds of the street are quite narrow. Three cars can
fit in a comfortable fashion. However, most folks in the lower half
the street do not have a garage. There are always cars parked on
the street, including my own.
So, whenever a big truck (fire truck, dump truck, etc.) tries
to get up our street, it is an adventure. However they go up
(forwards or backwards), they must come back down the same
way. A few years ago, a couple of kids in a house at the top of the
street made a series of prank calls to the fire department to see
them get their trucks up and then back down.
Today was the bonus round: steep hill plus snow. The
contestant: a salt truck. He was able to back up the street to
my house, engine huffing and puffing as it went. Then, just as
he reached my uphill neighbor's property line, his wheels
started to spin. These aren't the whimpy tires on my small
car: they were thickly treaded, wide, and as tall as my
car. He went down past my house, then back again--he gained a
couple of yards. The part of the street in front of my house now
had a triple-dose of the salt he was trying to spread.
He went all the way to the base of the hill. I though he had
given up. Nope--he charged up, following the area cleared by the
people living at the top of the street. And, he made it. Quite an
impressive performance.