It Snows in Southern California??

There's a song that croons "It Never Rains In Southern California".  As a full-time resident for coming up on my first year, I can attest that this title is a lie.  But snow??  Yes, yes, I've been told many times (and witnessed for myself) that it does, indeed, snow here, but as my Cali-native husband often remarks "Californians go to the snow.  It does not come to us!"  Furthermore, unlike the proverbial "Rain In Spain", the snow is not supposed to fall mainly in the plains - make that, the lower elevations of the Inland Empire of SoCal.  I just love that designation; Inland Empire.  It sounds so royal, as if it were actually ruled by an Emperor.  Perhaps one with no clothes?  Well, the fact is, there's no Emperor or royalty of any kind.  The area merely refers to the large swath of Southern California which includes Palm Springs and the Coachella Valley to which it is a part, and stretches across most (if not all) of Riverside County and perhaps even Imperial County to the south.  I'm still brushing up on my SoCal geography so I wouldn't swear to the latter.  My point is, the snow in this area is supposed to stay where it belongs, on the mountains and remain no closer than the 2,900 foot elevation.  What my hubby either neglected to inform me, or more likely, what I neglected to realize is, there are times when, like it or not, you must go to or through the snow.  So, imagine my surprise ... well, horror, actually, when I was driving my trusty 2008 Subaru Outback home from an Informational Interview, the subject of which will appear in a future post, an hour west of Palm Springs and noticed that the driving rain was suddenly turning white.  And fluffy.  And sticking to both median strips and palm trees!!  Palm trees covered with snow resemble an ugly monochromatic Truffula tree that even a Lorax would want to see chopped down.

So I'm driving along Interstate 10 (known  locally as simply "the ten") through an on-again, off-again rain storm when my eyes wander briefly to the trip computer outside temperature readout on my dash. At approximately 65-70mph, the numbers began their steady descent.  45...43...40...38...35.... uh, oh!  That "rain" was beginning to get mighty syrupy.  By the time the readout hit that magic number 32,  there was no mistaking it.  I was driving through what vaguely resembled the star-spray of hyper-drive engagement on the Millennium Falcon of "Star Wars" fame.  If only!  Now, Lord knows I've driven through worse weather in my many decades of driving on the East coast.  However, the nagging knowledge that the I-10 freeway has never and will never see a salt or sand truck was plucking at my nerves.  The obvious panic of my fellow drivers, most of whom were caught as off-guard as me, didn't improve the blood flow to my white knuckles in their death grip on my steering wheel.  And there's nothing quite so clenching as moving ever-so-carefully over to the far left lane to avoid the tsunami-spray of an 18-wheeler only to feel all four of your all-wheel-drive wheels lose contact with the road surface!  Hydroplaning on a delightful mix of pooled water and slush watching, in horror, as the mainly inclement-weather-driving-novices hit their brakes (!) mere yards ahead.  Somehow, I managed to move gracefully out of the slush lane without my car suddenly facing westbound on the eastbound side of "the ten."

As is typical of this part of the country, rife with micro-climates, within 15 miles and roughly 10 years of driving, the snow had abated, as did the rain.  By the time I reached the Palm Springs City Limits sign, the roads were devoid of moisture.  The same couldn't be said for my ..... you can fill in the blank.  I'll say "brow"!

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