Sarah Nigbor

Every single time I go to the Wisconsin Newspaper Association annual convention and awards banquet, an ice storm hits (with the exception of last year, when the banquet was held in June. But I would not have been surprised). I am starting to wonder if I’m cursed. Or perhaps another journalist is bringing the curse upon the rest of us.

As I drove south to Madison on Friday morning, I was shocked once I passed Black River Falls. There was no snow anywhere to be seen. Just brown, matted down grass. It was a stark contrast to my yard, which has a couple feet of snow pack in some places yet. As the car thermometer creeped up toward 50 degrees, I cracked my window and cranked the radio. Even I, the hater of spring because it’s so tricky and shifty, was getting into the spirit. Dare I let down my guard and hope that true warm weather is around the corner? Even winter lovers are sick of snow by now.

My festive bubble was burst at happy hour. Another editor informed me that the weather report was calling for ice and several inches of snow to cloak Madison by morning. And sure enough, they were right. My hopes of walking around Lake Monona and enjoying the warmer weather were dashed.

When I opened my window shade the next morning, I was greeted by thick, sloppy, wet snow cascading from the sky. A look at the streets told me I better get my butt moving if I wanted to make it out in a timely manner. Instead of lingering and enjoying a kid-free hotel room, no line for the shower and a bathroom all to myself, I chugged a cup of coffee and away I went.

The minute my car emerged from the underground parking garage, I knew I was in for an annoying ride. The streets were coated in thick, slushy ice beneath several inches of sopping snow. Snowblowers could barely punch through it. If anyone tried to shovel it, they’d probably throw out their back. My car skidded its way down the street, dodging giant snow piles and pedestrians slogging who knows where. Another fine send-off from WNA.

Luckily, by the time I reached Baraboo, the snow was behind me and the brown stretches of snowless country were surrounding me once again. The sun even came out and it promised to be a beautiful day. A second cup of coffee from a drive-through conquered my sour mood.

When my mother accompanied me to WNA in 2018, an ice storm coated I-94 the entire way home from Madison to River Falls. It was by far the worst storm I’ve driven in. There were more vehicles in the ditch than on the road. As I inched down the freeway, I prayed we’d stay on the road. We passed semi after semi twisted sideways in the ditches. We probably should have pulled off and stayed somewhere, but one of us had to be back for something, though I can’t remember what.

Near Black River Falls two semis had jack-knifed and we ended up being at a standstill on the interstate for over two hours. When all was said and done, it took us more than nine hours to get home that time. Nine hours without coffee because if I drank coffee, I’d have to use the bathroom. I swore to myself, never again.

At least this time it didn’t take nine hours to get home. And I even won a first-place award for this very column. Next year, I vote for having the banquet in July.