In the winter of 2003, I experienced my first snowfall, while driving a big rig, in Victorville, CA.
I knew I'd be cutting it close, but technically the truck stop diner doesn't close until 22:00.
Sit back, grab a beer, and find out about the time I nearly bludgeoned a mechanic to death.
I'd been assigned a run from -- if memory serves -- Phoenix, AZ to either Provo, or Salt Lake City, Utah. Load left in late afternoon, which meant I'd be getting into the upper range of my daily limits on toward dawn.
Pay attention to that last bit, it's the important part.