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Mr. Jenkins pulls to the side, sets the emergency brake and hauls himself on to the slippery hood to shake the windshield wipers free of snow and ice.
"Here’s what we have so much problem with,” he says, as the buildup signals it’s time for another shake down. The passenger side view is just a strip above the dashboard; the window to the road on the driver’s side a square in the center of the windshield. “There’s nothing we can do about this, except to push it off. The snow blowing back over the top of the plow is too much for the wipers to handle,” Mr. Jenkins explains, as he sayings out of the cab.
We pass more highway trucks making the down run from the mountain. Occasionally, a jeep or a pick-up truck with chains creeps by. Mr. Jenkins waves at a gas station attendant wielding a shovel against the accumulation of snow around the pumps. Bundled in layers of jacket, stocking cap and scarves, he’s the only human we see as we plow through the village of Sperryville and head up the winding, snaking road to Panorama.
“Now, don’t get scared if you feel a bump. It’s , nothing to worry about,” Mr. Jenkins assures his passenger. He adds that he’ll stay fur
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