“The indifference of nature to the struggle of those who live on its whims is a strange, lasting mercy only apparent during its greatest thrashes.” – Old Sean
Long Route
Following my lovely time spent in St. Louis, I took a long, painfully empty road trip towards Denver.
The major Midwest route leading from St. Louis to the Rocky mountains is notoriously direct and stunningly boring.
It’s quite easy to name all the trees on that long jaunt, since the number of landmarks stays in the single digits.
However, when I finally crossed the entirety of Kansas and half of Colorado, I arrived in Denver.
For my first order of business, I curled up at a gas station for a desperate three hours of sleep. Then, when reasonable AM hours began creeping in, I drove to Boulder to meet my friend Brady for coffee.
Boulder Moment
Brady lives in Boulder, close to the same section of road I lived on when I was based in the college-mountain-town.
We sat down for a cup of coffee. Originally, I was going to stay with Brady for a day or so, making occasional forays into Denver, before driving through the Rockies to Vegas. I was slightly behind my work itinerary, and I was meeting a foreign friend in Vegas, which meant I was on a somewhat tight schedule.
But as I sipped coffee with Brady, waxing on about my plans, he mildly asked, “But what about the storm?”
I froze. I hadn’t been aware of any incoming storm, but when I looked at the Doppler Radar, there was indeed a great, wheeling blob of green and red blanketing vast swaths of the Rockies.
Fortunately, the storm hadn’t hit the roads I required to continue West.
Granting Brady a hasty goodbye (which he accepted with grace), I flung myself into my rental car and gunned towards the Rockies, hoping to make it thorugh the pass before snow blocked my route entirely.
Sleep deprived and over-eager to keep to my schedule, the decision would prove crippling.
The Whitewalls
Currently, I’m driving a hardy little Hyundai Elantra. The poor vehicle simply isn’t equipped to punch through a true snowstorm. Snowstorms are painfully tricky for any vehicle to handle and my tiny car was forced to struggle nobly.
As I started driving through the mountain pass, the snowstorm veered south, encasing my route. I was suddenly in a thick wall of blizzard.
My windshield wipers continued to freeze against deep chills, cementing them to the hood of my car. I was forced to stop frequently, using shivering fingers to pinch them into functionality by hand-peeling ice.
Great heaps of snow funneled into the mountains, filtered down from above, caking the roads faster than tires and snowplows could clear it.
The only thing visible in that deep wall of pale were the taillights in front of me. The weather was too dense for any other reference points. Mountains appeared from the shrouds, spontaneous as lightning, lost to the next gust of wind and a fresh wall of snow moments later.
Through the entire journey, my breaks barely functioned. I was forced to pump them on every downhill incline, denying momentum its lethal buildup.
Deep Drift Driving
By necessity, I stopped at every turnoff to chip away ice, shake my hands from their rictus grips, restock on coffee and yell laminations toward the sky. There was nowhere for me to permanently stop, as every turnoff was crammed with abandoned cars. Others I talked to sagely told me that the forecast was worsening, and more inclement weather would keep us locked here for a couple of days.
All time vanished into that uniform white climate.
But then, the drifts diminished. Mountains began to stand from the pale gloom with clarity.
It had been the most difficult drive of my life to date. But I’d punched through.
For a long few hours, I rolled easily thorugh the flatlands of Utah, blinking exhaustion from my eyes. The sky was clear, a rich tapestry of sunset hues. The lands were vast and empty, a mere few inches of snow unevenly spread on the ground. There were dry mountain peaks, long roads, stubborn pockets of snow and actual rest stations.
Citing a favor, I rolled into a friend’s cousin’s driveway for a snooze. The following morning, I drove to a Denny’s to quietly recover while typing this. I’m sipping my first non-caffeinated drink of the day.
Tonight, I’ll be rolling into Vegas where I’m due for more work and time with a couple of friends.
But until then, I’m proud of my tiny rental car’s mettle.
Onward west then.
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written January 24th 2019
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