Another Use for Chicken Grit

Our youth group borrowed my big red 1993 passenger van to drive to a youth conference in Green Bay this weekend. The van has seen better days but it is reliable and a good way to transport large groups of people.

I was worried about driving my replacement, Brendon, the youth leader’s much newer nicer silver Impala. Yikes.

44,000 miles on the speedometer. Not sure I’ve ever seen those numbers on a car I’ve driven. Swapping an aging 200,000 mile van for a car with 44,000 miles was hardly a fair trade.

And all those buttons. Power this, power that. Took awhile to figure out simple things like moving the seat, opening the trunk, and rolling down the window.

I tried to not be paranoid about driving this nice car. I’ve been driving for 34 years and know what I’m doing. True, I’ve been in three accidents, but only one was my fault. And the ticket I got last year was totally unfair.

I took my two youngest daughters and their friends sledding on Saturday. I told the girls to be very careful and not damage anything. When it came time to leave, I tried to turn the car around in a cleared area.

In my defense, the snow looked mostly level. Until I got up close, where the snow was deeper than it looked. Oh man, I thought. I hope I don’t…get…stuck.

Drats. Stuck good. How embarrassing. The girls tried to push. Nothing. A friend tried pushing. Nothing.

Another friend, the mother of the guy I had traded cars with, walked over to help. She carries a bucket of chicken grit in her car for such emergencies. Chicken grit works like sand and helps to give traction. After she put chicken grit under the front wheel, four male snowmobilers stopped to help.

My girls stood to the side and laughed. Some day they’ll understand why things like this aren’t funny. At least at the time.

When the snowmobilers pushed the car backwards, I was dismayed to see the wheels spray chicken grit all over them. How embarrassing. That kind of stuff only happens in movies. They pushed hard and we were finally free.

A snowmobiler covered in chicken grit mixed with snow slush, said, “I don’t think you’re supposed to park here.”

Hmmph. Silly guy couldn’t tell the difference between parking and turning around.

I told the girls not to mention this to anyone, only to realize that since the Brendon's mother, sister, niece and nephew all witnessed my snafu, the odds of him finding out were pretty good.

I fessed up and apologized last night when we exchanged vehicles. Thankfully, Brendon said it was okay so I’m taking him at his word. Especially when I later heard from my older daughters about the Chinese Fire Drills and the van rocking the youth group did in our van. Of all the nerve!