Snow Job

The best part of the trip, for me, was being seen as a hero in the eyes of my son. It was our annual vacation in the snow, and it began with the news that Interstate Eighty was closed. It looked like it might be over before it even started, but a few breaks in the clouds as well as tenacious snow removal efforts in the higher altitudes made it possible for us to continue on our journey. Continue until we got to Colfax, that is.
We had been heading into the mountains for a few hours, and as we climbed the rain turned to snow, and when my wife suggested that she take over behind the wheel and get a bite to eat, we looked for the next exit. The first fast food we spotted through the persistent snowfall was Subway, where the sidewalks were already covered with white and the parking lot was filling up with slush. While my wife took my son and his friend inside to order our sandwiches, I drove around the corner to top off our gas tank "just in case." By the time we were gassed up and ready to roll again, sandwiches in hand, we looked over and saw a most distressing sight: A California Highway Patrolman pulled his SUV across the on-ramp, lights flashing, and got out long enough to put up a barricade. The highway was closed.
What could we do now? My wife and I, along with two eleven year-olds, were trapped in what was now a legitimate blizzard. We were closer to the cabin we were heading toward than our home, but we didn't have the option of heading in either direction. We sat there, in the parking lot staring down at the "Stop" sign on the barrier, trying to create a plan. We rolled down the window and asked the people sitting in the car next to us if they had any idea what was going on. They were trying to get news from their cell phone and were told that the highway was still open. The people at the gas station were only a tiny bit more help. They suggested that it could be all night, and the local motel was probably already full up. We tuned in the AM frequency that was supposed to update road conditions and listened to the robotic voice drone on about snow removal machinery and following distance, but no mention of highway closure.
Then, just as quickly as he had put up the barricade, the Highway Patrolman picked up his barricade and moved out of the way. We were not the only ones who noticed. Suddenly the adjacent parking lots were alive like the start of Le Mans, with cars streaming toward the on ramp in no particular order, all with the hope of making it up the mountain before the gate came down again. We worked our way into the line, and after a bit of negotiation, my wife had us pointed back into the teeth of the storm.
It wasn't long before the asphalt was covered as neatly as the sidewalks at the Subway shop. This made for more and more treacherous driving conditions, and soon my wife announced that she thought we should stop and put on our chains. I used to do this with regular frequency, when snow and ice were a more regular part of my driving experience, but this was on the side of a highway on which we had already seen one rollover accident, it was getting dark, and the snow was now coming down in great pelting fistfuls. I used some of my best snarling epithets on the tire on my side, while my wife struggled with hers and the boys sat quietly in the back seat. When I had finally wrestled mine into place, I went over and assisted my wife. After I secured her side, we finished off the job with the band that held the chains snug on the outside. When we got back in the car, wet and shivering, that was when my son announced that I was his hero.
I tried to be cool about it, and told him the truth, which was that I couldn't have done it without his mother.
We drove on into the night that was starting to resemble some sort of frigid screensaver. We had to pull over several times to clear the ice and snow that was building up on our windshield in spite of our wipers and defroster working overtime. Each time I got back in, my son and his friend renewed their praise for me. When we finally made it to our exit, we were relieved to find that the cacophonous roar from the chains was dulled by the deeper snow on the road leading to our cabin. We felt even more relief when we pulled, at last, into the driveway. All four of us were still feeling the adrenaline of what had become, over the years, a pretty routine drive. But not this time. This one was special. It was an adventure, and my son sang my praises into the night as we unloaded the car and got ourselves prepared to spend the long weekend in our wintry wonderland. Now the snow didn't look so threatening. It just kept falling.