The Loneliest Road in America is not empty on the ride back. It is packed with slick, newly fallen snow. In random places sit cars that have spun. Trucks are stalled. Even a wrecker has gone into a ditch.
State police are at work.
With the boat in tow this is what I'd call a fairly white-knuckle ride. The killer chili Pete's wife, Karen, serves when we finally arrive that night is like a transfusion. There is no one near the lake when we launch the next morning. The sun flirts behind scudding clouds. There is no wind, but there is something else that does not please Pete.