I am happy to report that the saga has ended. My truck has been pulled free of its icy prison, and is currently resting happily, if tiredly, in the back alley driveway.
Really, the only unfortunate part of this ending is that I didn’t procure it myself.
Yes, friends, I caved and called AAA.
But only after another afternoon of scraping, gas pedal tapping, and boiling pot after pot of water to pour on the stubborn ice. My housemate, Jordan, came out to help after a time, which was cause for additional optimism: Jordan recently bought (and maintains) a motorcycle. Jordan recently started a business consisting of himself and a friend performing oil changes for college students who can’t afford to go to the local shop (or, heaven forbid, the dealer). Jordan had some ideas. He went to the garage and returned with several small planks of wood and a dirty towel. The idea was that the planks would give the truck some leverage, and that the towel could fill in the watery tire grooves for added support. It was a valiant effort, but after watching the planks shot forty feet from the truck by the force of spinning tires (I got out of the way, or else I would undoubtably be typing with my right leg missing below the knee), we decided that a tug was the only hope.
The AAA man was nice on the phone. “I’ll send my son out,” he told me gently, “he’s going to delay his meal and head out there.”
“Oh, he shouldn’t do that!” I exclaimed, horrified at the prospect of the son, stomach growling, turning away his dinner in favor of helping an automobile-impaired college student who had managed to get her truck lodged in front of her own house.
The man insisted, though, and within a half hour, his son Tim was hooking a tow chain to the back of my truck. One good yank and then a push from Tim, his right shoulder braced in my front wheel bed, and I was free.
I thanked Tim, drove a victory lap around town, and then went to the grocery store for a celebratory (and much-needed) shop.