There's nothing like driving down a highway in whiteout conditions to really make you wish you weren't doing it.

Tuesday morning started out like most Tuesdays.
I rolled out of bed about 10 minutes after four and was in the Oldsmobile half an hour later.
As I’d manually opened the garage door I wondered if it had snowed over night and ob-served by the tracks I left behind that it had.
As I headed down the driveway making my way to Redwood Falls I noticed a few flakes falling and hitting the windshield.
I thought nothing of it.
By the time I was just north of Vesta I was thinking of nothing else but snow, as the few flakes had joined a few of their friends creating in a few moments an instant whiteout.
I continued to drive north, and it just seemed to be getting worse, I just could not see.
Then a voice from the back of my head spoke practical words of wisdom for me.
“Turn your wipers on, moron,” said the voice.
So, I did.
It didn’t help.
Now I could much more clearly see all of the flakes falling in front of me, but could see absolutely nothing else.
Slowing down to the point where i wondered if I was moving at all I moved past the Echo corner wondering if it would get any better as I headed due east.
Nothing improved, and I decided it was probably a good idea for me to just turn around and head back home.
I completely missed my first opportunity to take a gravel road, but by the next one I was ready.
I turned onto the side road, stopped turned around and headed back toward the safety of the Krause house.
The seven mile trek which would have typically taken a few minutes took nearly half an hour, and by the time I had the car back in the garage I was frazzled to say the least.
Walking back into the house, I was asked if everything was OK.
I shared my experience, adding to the tale for dramatic effect, just to see if I would get much sympathy.
People who are normally not awake at 5 p.m. don’t have a lot of time for drama, especially when they had just been up with a crying baby a couple of hours earlier in the morning.
By that point, I was certain I would be home for the day waiting out the blizzard of the century – more than a bit antsy about just sitting wide awake in the living room watching the early morning news. The weather guy on the TV said the snow falling in the metro area would be short lived.
He was right, because within half an hour of arriving home the snow had come to an end.
Just moments after zero visibility, I looked out the window and could see for miles. The storm of the century was over before it really got started.
I got back in the car and headed to town, just as I would on any other Tuesday and arrived an hour later than I had initially hoped, but I had arrived safely.
I wondered to myself if the storm had really happened, or if it really was as bad as I had thought. Perhaps the reality of old age had caught up with me, and what would have been just another snowfall a decade ago became the worst blizzard I had ever experienced. I am convinced I did not overreact, but deep down I wonder if my eyes were just playing tricks on me.
Because there was only one other vehicle I encountered during the experience, I am guessing no one else is going to corroborate my tale of terror.
Whether you believe me or not, I am hoping if you ever do experience something like I did you follow my example and err on the side of safety.