I almost don’t want to write this, don’t want to take myself
back to what I went through, literally and figuratively, to get to this
delightful spot. Right now, the sun is
shining, the sky is mostly blue, the temperature is near 60 and all that is
running through my head is my instructor saying, in reply to my, “Well, that
lacked both style and grace!” with, “But you are still on the board!”
But how did we get here, to this Disneyland for campers? It took blind faith in my ability to say,
convincingly, “I didn’t see that sign.” And
I would need that faith twice.
*
I sincerely hope it is just me who makes this mistake but,
when pulling out of Boise a few days ago, I did not look at the weather report
for the route. When leaving from
anywhere but home I check the weather in multiple locations along my planned
route. But often when leaving from home,
caution succumbs to adventure.
Expecting light snow in Boise, I awoke to three inches:
And still it did not occur to me to seek out the weather for my route to Reno.
Ready to put some distance between us and the cold—if the
highs got into the 40’s we were thrilled—Opus and I and about ten different
pieces of sporting equipment, set off for California. Where else would you be able to use a SUP board,
hiking boots, bathing suit, golf clubs, pickleball racquet and skis? No wonder Walt chose this place; it is
magical, particularly when you are not living there anymore.
So off we go, headed south on Highway 55 to Highway 95. It is snowing and there is so much snow on
the hills I realize I finally understand the term “blanket of snow.” The next time you lay a blanket across your
legs (and I hope it is soon—is there any greater comfort?) look at how the space
between your knees disappears. It all
gets rounded out and fluffy looking. That’s
what the hills looked like: There was no
visible chaparral or tufts of tall, dry grass, no dry tumbleweeds rolling along, there
was just a soft pillowy whiteness as far as I could see.
The sky cleared a bit but the roads were still slushy, often
with only one rail of black visible but at least one side of the car was on
asphalt. I was glad to be surrounded by semi-trucks
until I, suddenly, wasn’t. We came
around a corner, the road dipping down into a slight valley and, as my eyes
followed the road across to the other side, the one line of black disappeared. The road up the other side of the valley was
solid white. The semi’s around me joined
the six already on the side of the road putting on chains. Dutifully working next to the flashing sign, “Chains required at this point.”
Well, I didn’t have chains so I didn’t bother stopping. In for a penny in for a pound. This is where my experience up in McCall came
in handy: I had pulled Beagle up to the
ski resort on roads looking much the same as this. I’ve got this. And if I didn’t, there were plenty of
truckers behind me.
The going was slow, I just kept a steady RPM, careful not to
accelerate or brake suddenly and before I knew it (actually two hours had gone
by), I was over the pass and rolling, not only with all four tires on black
asphalt again, but dry black asphalt.
Yes!
Just outside of Sparks, we saw the first of the “I-80 is
closed” signs, in conjunction with “Limited parking for semi’s in Reno.” Turns out the highway had been closed all day
due to the four feet (four feet!!) of snow that had fallen and a small
avalanche that had taken out the west-bound lanes. I was really glad I had a reservation at the
KOA Boomtown.
But CalTrans wasn’t the only one unprepared for the dumping of
snow; the KOA, apparently, only plowed once as there was still plenty of snow
on all the roads and most of the pitches.
Here’s where they thought I could pull Beagle:
But there was no way I was going to open Beagle’s door and step into two feet of snow, so I opted for a back-in spot that had been at least partially cleared:
As it was, I was in snow up to my knees getting to the electrical outlet but it was worth it. With temperatures down into the teens overnight, I wanted Beagle plugged in. Redundancy in heating systems is important at those temperatures.
Sunny but frigid in the morning, I was happy to hear that
I-80 was back open. Assuming it would
take a few hours for the miles and miles of semi’s parked along the highway to
get going, I decided to take a rare morning shower. In the Beagle, I usually shower at night but
the night before was too cold and I thought, “It’s going to be a long day, at
some point you will be tired and cranky and you can tell yourself, ‘at least I
am clean’.” That was some awesome foresight.
I had 430 miles to my destination, the driveway of a dear
friend, so I started the day motivated and determined. I entered I-80 West and this is what I saw
for two hours (and a mere four miles):
Yep, only 426 more miles to go.
But things were worse on the other side; there was an accident
so severe that no cars were coming down the eastbound lanes and, in fact,
numerous emergency vehicles utilized that empty space to respond, driving the
wrong way up the highway.
For us heading West, right at the California border
(naturally) the CHP had reduced the two lanes to just one for the sole purpose of
evaluating every car to see if it was fit to go over the pass. Once in the evaluation lane, you were either
waved to your left and sent on your way up the pass or waved to your right and
sent toward (this is an important distinction) the highway’s off-ramp.
I was waved to the right.
I rolled down my window in anticipation of having a discussion about my
traction tires (all wheel drive all the time) with the CHP officer. But he waved me further to the right. I had just passed the second officer (who, like
his partner, had no desire for discussion) when I decided they must be ok with
me and so, seeing six feet of space between the orange cones, I turned left and
merged into the “good to go” group.
And off I went.
It wasn’t until some time later that I realized the officers
didn’t want to talk as they assumed I would follow the orange cones to the exit
ramp and off the highway. But by the time this occurred to me, I had
other things on my mind like the fact that often without notice, the barely
two-lane (due to the snow banks on each side) highway would suddenly turn into
one as you rounded a curve to find a giant snow moving device working on the
bank. And these were not plows running parallel
to the lanes, they were tractor like devices turned perpendicular to the lanes
building walls of snow and ice. These
walls were easily ten feet tall.
You know those cautionary curve signs, often yellow, that
provide a recommended speed for the curve ahead? Ya, couldn’t see the lettering. I have never, ever, seen so much snow in one
place.
Once over the pass, the roads cleared significantly and, as
my hands lessened their death grip on the steering wheel, I was able to look out
at the gorgeous snow-filled hillsides with just the very tallest of trees and
the largest of rocks visible.
Home free and only 300 miles to go.
Yep, it was a long, long day. Eleven hours in the car which thankfully ended
at the house of TWGPT, where, without me needing to shower, we immediately
walked in the cooling night down to some delicious Mexican food.
The low that night was 40.
-K
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