My head aches. My feet are frozen. And I missed a half-day's work. To take my mind off my troubles, I try to think how best to describe the sound of the tire chains as they slap between the wheel-wells of the bus and the icy roadway. Is it a Twaap-Twaap-Twaap, or a Clang-Splat-Clang? Whatever it is, the never-ending sound is boring its way into my brain.

I started my day by waiting on California Avenue for a route 55 bus that never came. So I marched south to the Junction, the crisp crunching of my feet on the frozen ground breaking the silence of a snow-bound morning. At the Junction a large crowd stood waiting for a bus, any bus, to take them downtown. A 54 had just left, having migrated from the frozen southlands, and it had been filled to the gills. There was little room, and those left standing on the sidewalk had to wait for the next bus. If there was one, that is.

Trying to beat the odds, I started walking south, hoping to catch the next bus before it filled up. So I walked several blocks, where I found a deserted bus stop at the old Taco Bell (now Olarn Thai Bistro). There I brushed off six-inches of snow from the cold cement bulkhead, and sat to await a bus, any bus.

I waited, and waited. After 20 minutes I was about to give up, and return home, when a car pulled over. The driver rolled down the window, and asked "Are you trying to get downtown?" I did not know the driver. But what the hell, my feet were cold, and I could not turn down this kind offer. And so I was soon warming cold feet while being driven downtown in comfort-thanks Steve!

But my return home is not quite as comfortable. Due to the icy roads, the 55 cannot take the viaduct, so it slowly winds its way south along Fourth Avenue. In addition to the loud 'Twaap-Twaap-Twaap' of the chains, something very strange happens every few minutes, something caused by the combination of ice, rubber, and chains on asphalt, something that causes the entire bus to vibrate. It is a long, deep, deafening, basso-profundo vibration that ratchets up my headache to migraine proportions.

The bus can't cross the West Seattle Bridge, so once we reach Spokane Street it heads to Harbor Island to take the low level bridge. The bridge is open, so we sit still for 15 minutes. Once over the bridge the bus starts the climb up Avalon. Here a rider wants off. But the driver, for fear of getting stuck, won't stop until we reach the top of the hill.

Adding insult to injury, when we finally reach the Junction the driver announces he will go no further. And those, like me, that want to go north towards Admiral will need to catch the 55-Shuttle, "which will be along shortly". Having heard that one before, I resign myself to walking home. And sure enough, as I head north along California no shuttle passes by.

My commute home took two hours-two miserable hours. The heavy snow has disrupted all our routines. But as miserable as it's made getting around, and in spite of my bus induced headaches, I've loved it. It's like we're living in an alternate universe, one that's forced us to slow down, and one that's forced me to get a lot more exercise, for on winter weekdays it's usually a battle to keep from turning into a couch potato. But the best part is that every day is an adventure. (But I will be glad when the snow's gone.)