Frigid Passage

We left about eleven PM and so were able to celebrate New Years Eve over each time zone landing in Los Angeles around midnight.

It's good to do something like this every once in a while. Besides being a lot of fun sometime it provides food for thought. Like did I somehow manage to extract a three hour period out of the stream of time or maybe I was just caught up in an illusion having to do with the administration and measurement of time. Jet lag makes you think of things like this.

Looking down from thirty thousand feet, I could see the lights of cities and town strewn across the Dark Continent like jewels flung across black velvet. As we flew west, the lights began to thin out until at last as we passed Oklahoma City they disappeared entirely. As we cruised over the darkness I looked in vain for even a small marker to tell me that life existed. There was nothing except starlight until about a half hour later I saw Colorado Springs, Denver and Fort Collins shining faintly under our wing.

It was into this land we passed driving down a road that was becoming increasingly hard to find in the clouds of fine powder that blew horizontally across our field of vision. Thankfully the Chevy boasted a powerful heater which we had turned on full blast defrost.

For a while we were able to keep track of our location on the road by following the faint tracks of the trucks that had proceeded us earlier but those began to disappear as we slowed down to about 30 miles an hour. The road was not only drifting over with powdery, dry snow, but the rain that had proceeded the snow had frozen hard on the surface of the highway creating a treacherous driving surface not unlike an ice rink. The slightest shift in direction caused the Chevy to lose all traction and drift in a gentle four wheel skid until one of the gap toothed studs bit into the asphalt returning a modicum of control to Rob who gripped the wheel with white fingers.

In the back seat Willie, lighting another joint made a rare conversational gambit, "You cool man?"

Taking the joint, Rob replied, "Yeah, but would you mind keeping an eye out for the edge of the road?"

Willie replied to the affirmative and after taking a long hit and handing the joint to me Rob said, "You too man."

His instructions were unnecessary. I had been watching our progress with horrified fascination for some time but I realized that Rob was looking for reassurance that he wasn't alone more than anything else. I agreed that I would look for telltale signs that we were headed off the road realizing that by the time I had spoken up we would already be firmly and irretrievably lodged in a snow bank.

We all knew that this would probably be our final resting place until the highway patrol dug us out about a week later as thoroughly frozen as Swanson TV dinners.

In the back seat Willie lit another joint and passed it to us. Rob declined and I did likewise. In the back seat the cherry glowed as Willie looked out of his window.

Finally I asked Rob, "How much further do we have?"

"I saw a sign about a half hour ago that said Julesberg was forty miles away."

"How fast are we going?"

"Fifteen or twenty miles an hour depending."

"Depending on what?"

"How many times I've shit my pants in the last five minutes."

"So that would mean...?"

"An hour, maybe more."

"Jesus Christ."

"Don't be a pussy, we're almost there."

The storm outside the car hadn't slowed a bit. If anything it had intensified in the last hour. We had turned northeast and now were driving directly into the heart of the storm. Instead of blowing across the road in front of us, the snow was coming straight at us.

This must have changed the chill factor. Even though the heater was blowing full bore on defrost, the front window began to ice up and clots of ice started to form on the wipers.

As the ice began to accumulate the wipers were lifted off of the surface of the windshield which allowed the water to accumulate and begin freezing obscuring an already limited field of vision.

"Jesus, what now?" I said.

Rob didn't reply, but turned the wipers off and rolled the drivers window down. Stretching out until he was nearly standing at the wheel of the mammoth Chevy he proceeded to knock the ice off by banging the wipers against the cracked windshield.

I realized that in order to work both of the wipers needed to be freed, so I rolled my window down and leaning out into the arctic blast did the same thing on my side. When most of the ice was knocked off the wiper I pushed against the block of frozen water on the upper part of the windshield until it broke loose and tumbled into the darkness and snow behind the car.

The Chevy had been in motion throughout this entire exercise. Rob managed to keep up his speed up while at the same time aiming the 58 forward into the storm. We both knew that if the car came to rest there was a very good possibility that we'd never be able to get it moving again.

We rolled our respective windows up and felt the warmth gradually return to the interior as we sat dripping and shivering in our seats. Rob said, "That ought to hold us for a while."

"For a while" turned out to be about five minutes.

The next hour and a half was a nightmare of snow and freezing cold as we repeated the operation again and again, each time it took a little longer for the interior of the car to warm. By the time we saw the lights of Julesberg glowing through the clouds of blowing snow we were numb and soaking wet.

Julesberg Colorado is a collection truck stops, restaurants and truckers motels situated just off the highway. As we pulled over the bridge I noticed that gates had been lowered at the entrances to the highway blocking access. A sign flashed, "Highway Closed". That explained why the tracks from the truckers had disappeared, we had been driving on a closed road.

That also explained why all of the truck stops were jammed full with tractor-trailers belching diesel fumes into the storm. The truckers had been forced to wait the storm out. We pulled in to refill the gas tank and despite the howling wind and snow, the air was so full of diesel that it smelled like an airport at Thanksgiving.

After filling the tank, we went inside and actually paid for all of the gas we had pumped for the first time since leaving Denver. It put a sizeable dent in our budget, but it couldn't be helped.

We ordered coffee and when the waitress brought the steaming cups, Rob asked her about the highway situation.

"Well, all of the interstates are closed" she said, pushing a greasy strand of hair out of her face. "I think the state highways are still open, but they're getting ready to close them right now."

She left us and we started to drink the powerful coffee. Rob said, "If we're going to get there it looks like we'd better not fool around." I nodded and made no comment. Willie stirred his coffee silently.

Finally I said, "It's only thirty miles, if we made it this far, we can make it the rest of the way. At least we'll have a place to sleep."

When I first started visiting Carol neither Rob or I were allowed in the house overnight. We had to sleep in the Chevy, no mean feat since the front seats were buckets with the shifter located between them and the back seat, although a bench had a large divider right in the middle. We wound up sleeping sitting upright in the front seats.

The second trip up we took a tiny room at the town motel.

We were invited in when we came up the third time, partly, I believe, because Carol's parents realized it was better we were under their roof where they could keep an eye on her, but I would like to believe, partly because they had developed a grudging respect for our determination.

Rob and I would sleep on the floor of her brothers room and Willie slept on the couch in the living room.

Looking around the crowded truck stop I realized that the last motel room had been sold hours ago. We had passed people sleeping on the floor on our way to the rest room. There were hundreds of truckers sleeping in their rigs and if we remained in Julesberg we'd have to sleep in the car, a difficult feat for two people to pull off, impossible for three.

"Let's go" Rob said, getting to his feet.

We followed him out into the blizzard and after scraping the ice off the windshield we got back into the car.

Rob started it and we wallowed back onto the road, this time heading due north. As we left town we passed a state patrol car pulled over to the side of the road with its lights flashing. The officer outside struggled to get a portable electric sign started. He shouted something at us but we just kept on going headed into the darkness.

After five minutes or so when it became apparent that we weren't being pursued, Willie lit a joint and passed it around.

Although the storm hadn't abated at all, our change in direction helped a little. For one thing, the snow was blowing across the road instead of directly at us. The windshield was remaining clear and other cars had packed down enough snow so we weren't touching the asphalt, which gave us a little more traction.

The only problem was finding the road. The first part of the drive had us driving across an utterly flat plain without even the low rolling hills on the interstate that had helped identify the highway as it dipped through them.

The human brain is a wonderful thing. Most people don't know this, but your brain extends from between your ears almost all the way to your tail bone.

The part of the brain that most people think of is the part between your ears. This is the part that lets us speak, write, imagine, love, hate and do all of the intellectual things that make us human.

The other, little known part goes from the core of your brain and runs down your spine. This is the part that remembers to shift into second gear when we are thinking about other things. This is the part that remembers how to get places when you cannot actually call the details to active memory. This is human radar.

I believe that this is the part of Rob's brain that got him through this part of the last leg of the drive to Oshkosh. How else can I explain the drive across that white featureless plain amid the clouds of drifting snow with nothing but mile markers which had long ago been buried in the drifts of four and five feet.

The giant road locomotive plowed through the snow like an arctic icebreaker, never deviating from the path of the narrow two lane road that lie somewhere below us until finally we came to a stop sign protruding from a drift. This was our clue to turn left and drive due south for a few miles until we saw the outline of another stop sign barely visible through the blizzard.

This was the final turn of the journey. Rob turned right and Oshkosh was twenty miles away at the north end of the road we were now driving on.

The road began to wind as we descended into the Platte river valley and some of the drifts were higher than the hood of the car. We all knew this part of the trip by heart. Even so it was nearly an hour and a half until we spotted the light from the airstrip flashing through the clouds of snow telling us we were about to enter the town.

And now I am falling back into time, back to the moment when we pulled up in front of the darkened house. I am hearing the sound of the car door opening as I struggle awkwardly through the waist deep snow to reach the house. I don't bother ringing the doorbell, everyone has been in bed for hours, we aren't expected.

I am standing at her window, tapping, tapping even louder as clouds of fine powder drift off the roof coating my shoulders and head, waiting for her to hear me.

Suddenly she is there at the window, she's wearing her short cotton nightgown. She presses her face against the glass and then vanishes from sight.

I am running, plowing through the drifts that surround the house. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rob and Willie emerging from the snowbound car wallowing up where the walk to the house should be. I climb onto the porch and the door opens and I fall into her arms.

She is warm and soft and we are kissing, holding each other so tight as if we are never going to let go. Her face is warm in my hands, her breath is sweet and warm in my face. I am emerging from deep water and filling my lungs with clean fresh air, vision returning, limbs reattaching themselves to my body as we both gasp delighted greetings.

I am in her brothers room. Sleeping on the cold tile floor of his closet, wrapped in a warm sleeping bag. Carol is with me, her warm skin blending with mine as we dissolve into one person, joyfully touching and whispering in the night.

I can hear the old propane heater as it kicks on, blowing musty air through the register. I hold her face in my hands, "I missed you" I whisper.

"I missed you too" she whispers back and I am whole again.

Outside the snow drifts around the eves of the house and the storm rages on making the old house creak, bending tree branches, closing highways, freezing cattle and covering the world with cold white snowdrifts.. We both float into soft warm sleep, our spirits buoyed by utter contentment now rise together out of our bodies. Leaving ourselves wrapped in each others arms we rise above the old house and into the storm and are caught up and carried aloft high above the sleeping silent town now vanishing under a blanket of white serenity.