She took the exit, narrowly avoiding the long traffic jam that Big Red had predicted. She didn't have cell service, but she had the radio, connecting her to a community that lived on the airwaves.

Acts as a, sometimes chaotic, local chat room.

, the green light glowing in the otherwise dark cab of her Ford F-150. It was 2:00 AM on I-80, miles from the nearest town. Her GPS had died, and the torrential rain made visibility near zero.

"Storm's looking bad in the pass," the voice continued. "10-33 at 245. A local yokel is blocking the right lane. Take the next exit, go around on Hwy 30. It's a 'chicken coop' that's clear over there, no bears," Big Red advised, using the slang her grandfather taught her.

She was new to this, using a 102-inch whip antenna mounted to the bumper, a setup she’d inherited from her grandfather, whom they called “Old Copperhead”.