Odd Jobs: Behind the plow: Experiencing chilly work of the city’s night shift snow crews

Remember when snow day meant sledding down big hills, pelting friends with snowballs and building ice forts? As I’ve grown older, I’ve tried to hold on to that youthful enthusiasm. I’ve done pretty well, provided the snow falls only in the months of December and January, only after I’ve made a run to the grocery store and only in a form that doesn’t linger for more than a day on the roads.

When you’re a child, another thing about snow is cool: snowplows. I got to ride in one for this Odd Jobs assignment, and my 9-year-old son was so excited he offered to tag along (but it was past his bedtime).

At 11:45 p.m. on the Wednesday night before the big snowstorm, I drive through the icy-rain downpour to the Grissum Building, 1313 Lakeview Drive, where the city’s trucks are housed. I find Richard Grant, the supervisor, tracking the storm. Tonight the city will run a five-man skeleton crew, one truck per district, until the storm gets bad. The city runs two 19-person crews in 12-hour shifts when needed.

I head out with Gary Vaughn, a 29-year veteran, to pre-treat bridges and intersections. The truck lays down a mixture of salt and cinders, the spreader making a hissing noise over the rumble of the engine. Gary explains ice requires salt to melt and that cinders give traction. On some of the more treacherous streets, the drivers back the trucks down the streets to get traction from their own cinders. They do this while maneuvering around cars and construction trailers. I try not to let my thoughts linger on being in the cab of an eight-ton truck backing down an icy street. Instead, I focus on the brilliant displays of Christmas lights. I yawn. A hard part of the job is staying awake during the night shift.
We’re heading over a small bridge. There is no shoulder, and visibility is low.

“Luckily, if you get stuck, you know where the cinders are,” Gary says.
One or two trucks slide off the road on ice every season. The streets are broken down into first, second and third priority areas. We pre-treat some of the more dangerous second-priority streets and head back for a break.
Richard is glued to the forecast, watching for the cue to pull more drivers on duty. The current crew of Gary, Ed Gullion, Josh Calvert, Tom Frehse and Nicolas McSwain is fueling up on coffee. They chuckle at my attire; I’m dressed for the tundra. Tom wonders if there’s anything left in my closet.

I shed a few layers before heading out with Tom. He needs to fill the truck, so we pull around between two massive mounds of cinders and park next to a loading dock. I follow him up an ice-coated steel ladder into the cab. We lurch and jerk, scooping until the bucket is full, then stutter to a stop over the truck. As the load is dropped, we shake and bounce. I maintain a white-knuckle hold on the handgrips until we’re finished.

We’re off. Tom’s district is evidently the wildlife district. Much to his surprise, I literally squeal as a pack of deer runs out in front of the truck. “Oh, deer,” he smirks.

Tree limbs thump the truck like sound effects from a horror flick. A large owl swoops in front of the window. I thought the ice was going to be the scary part. An alarm is going off, and the “check engine” light is on. We have to head back.

While Tom trades trucks, I head out with Nicolas. The drivers are pulled from other city teams, such as the Storm Water division. After working their regular 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. shifts, they head in for the night shift. Snow means overtime. Nicolas, who just bought his first house, doesn’t mind.

You see a lot of strange things at night. We drive past a tractor-trailer; it’s 25 degrees out, and the driver has no clothes on. “Downtown you see a lot of crazy stuff like that after the bars let out,” Nicolas says.
By the time I leave, I’m exhausted.

Everyone is bracing for the big storm when I return at 8 p.m. the next evening. It’s snowing, and a full crew is now hitting the streets.
Nicolas, back in the downtown district, is in a smaller truck, allowing him to fit through the narrower streets. It’s equipped with rubber blades to keep the bricks from popping out of the crosswalks.

Onlookers wave from windows. Nicolas goes slowly and keeps his eye on the road. A couple of years ago his truck slid on a patch of ice in front of Paquin towers. Hitting the curb the truck bounced sideways, scraped cars and hit a light pole.

I say goodbye and head in for the night at 10:30 p.m. Gary, Tom, and Nicolas are out testing their driving skills, dodging deer and cars. When I wake at 7 a.m. and find 15 inches of snow on the ground, they’re still working. As the days pass more and more people grumble. I keep my fingers crossed for the guys in the trucks and head out to make a snowman. v
For more information on the city snow plan and/or snow routes, visit www.gocolumbiamo.com.