Vail Pass in a Blizzard
Through the TunnelI think the Caddie has performed rather well on its initial test run. Rena has a somewhat different opinion. Today is the real test of man, machine and marital nerves. We are attempting Vail Pass then up Loveland Pass to the Eisenhower Tunnel and on to Denver. A storm warning and blizzard alert are in effect as we depart Hotchkiss fortified with homemade granola and Susan’s ranch-house coffee (blacker than the devil and hotter than hell).
We don’t actually meet with any snow until just before Vail. As we approach the pass, we debate whether to stop in Vail Village for a pit-stop and a quick coffee. By the time we reach the Vail exit, it’s snowing hard so we decide to push on.
Good decision! The wind has picked up – driving the falling snow sideways. Two lanes are bumper-to-bumper going up the pass. Our ground speed slows to 10 then 5 then 2 MPH. The car is in idle but I have to keep my foot on the brake to prevent the Caddie’s 345 horses from rear-ending the fellow in front.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” I mutter to myself, Marvin the GPS and the Caddie.
“What?” Rena asks tensely.
“If we stop, I don’t know if the Caddie can get started again,” I explain, trying to keep my voice calm.
We stop. It’s either that or run into the SUV in front. We are facing uphill, the grade is steep, the outside temp is 32 degrees and the surface is black ice. If this were skiing instead of driving, we would be on a black diamond.
Sure enough when the wagon train heads out, our Conestoga fishtails toward the breakdown lane.
“Eeeks!” Rena shouts. “Now what?”
It’s a fair question to which I have no answer. I continue applying power to the Caddies’s rear wheels and listening to the spinning whine of the Dunlops.
“At least the guardrail will keep us from sliding over the edge,” I respond optimistically.
Just then, a silver SUV pulls in front of us and parks in the breakdown lane. A man and a woman in their 30’s, very fit in sweatpants and blue jerseys, explode from both sides and run back to the stranded Caddie with the silver haired guy and his petrified spouse inside.
“Need a push,” the woman asks?
The dynamic duo apply muscle to the metal as I take my foot off the brake and let the Caddie idle forward. This time the Goodyear’s grab and we speed up to 2 MPH without spinning. As we take off in slow motion, we both wave behind to thank our two saviors.
“Man, that was close,” I admit.
“I gotta pee,” says Rena.
“Hold on sweetie. Can’t stop now!”
Next is the Eisenhower tunnel. The storm has intensified. The radio informs us that Vail Pass has been closed to all Eastbound traffic. If we can just make the tunnel we’ll be able to coast down the Eastern slope to safety!
We don’t make it. All traffic comes to a halt. Marvin, myself, the Caddie and Rena are only 75 feet from the tunnel entrance. Something has happened and the Eastbound tunnel is blocked. At least we’re on the level and the wind is at our backs. In all probability, we can get started again when the time comes.
I check all systems. The Caddie seems fine. Marvin the Mad GPS is sulking quietly. But Rena is suffering advanced hydraulic failure.
“I really, really gotta pee,” she squeaks pathetically.
Frantically we scan the surroundings. We’re two miles high and above timberline. No friendly trees are in sight. It’s 20 degrees, in a white-out blizzard. The wind-chill must be stupendous.
“You can’t go outside,” I exclaim. “ You’ll freeze your toochis off.”
“I’ll go in the back seat then.”
Rena opens the door and climbs in the back.
The Caddie has every accessory they make only there’s no button for the backseat commode.
“I’ve got an empty Starbucks coffee cup. Will that help?” I ask.
“I hope it’s a Grande,” says Rena.
It’s not.
Rena squats on the floor in the back and aims at the cup. A quiet tinkling sound fills the plush Cadillac interior.
“Help,” yells Rena. “The cup's too small. I’m overflowing.”
“Try this.” I quickly hand back her Chaco moccasin.
Rena hands me the Starbucks cup and empties the rest of her bladder into her left shoe.
I empty shoe and cup into the storm outside. We both collapse in gales of laughter. Miraculously the rear mat of the Cadillac isn’t even damp.
“What National Rent-a-Car doesn’t know won’t hurt them,” I declare.
About ten minutes later, the tunnel re-opens and we coast down the canyon and off the ramp into the small village of Georgetown. There is no snow on the East side of the tunnel. My hands are shaking with relief. We stop to share a bowl of vegetarian chili at the the “Happy Cooker”. Afterward, Rena indulges in a little retail therapy. We re-embark and drive uneventfully to my Mom’s house in Lousiville. Total travel time 8 hours and 20 minutes for a 220 mile trip.
Despite engine failure, bladder failure and near-heart failure, we have succeeded in conquering the Continental Divide through a Colorado white-out blizzard.
“Score one for the seniors in the Caddie,” I say.
“Next time I get to pick the car,” says Rena. “That was way too scary!”
“Some adventures are scarier than others,” I admit. “That’s what makes them adventures.”
We don’t actually meet with any snow until just before Vail. As we approach the pass, we debate whether to stop in Vail Village for a pit-stop and a quick coffee. By the time we reach the Vail exit, it’s snowing hard so we decide to push on.
Good decision! The wind has picked up – driving the falling snow sideways. Two lanes are bumper-to-bumper going up the pass. Our ground speed slows to 10 then 5 then 2 MPH. The car is in idle but I have to keep my foot on the brake to prevent the Caddie’s 345 horses from rear-ending the fellow in front.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” I mutter to myself, Marvin the GPS and the Caddie.
“What?” Rena asks tensely.
“If we stop, I don’t know if the Caddie can get started again,” I explain, trying to keep my voice calm.
We stop. It’s either that or run into the SUV in front. We are facing uphill, the grade is steep, the outside temp is 32 degrees and the surface is black ice. If this were skiing instead of driving, we would be on a black diamond.
Sure enough when the wagon train heads out, our Conestoga fishtails toward the breakdown lane.
“Eeeks!” Rena shouts. “Now what?”
It’s a fair question to which I have no answer. I continue applying power to the Caddies’s rear wheels and listening to the spinning whine of the Dunlops.
“At least the guardrail will keep us from sliding over the edge,” I respond optimistically.
Just then, a silver SUV pulls in front of us and parks in the breakdown lane. A man and a woman in their 30’s, very fit in sweatpants and blue jerseys, explode from both sides and run back to the stranded Caddie with the silver haired guy and his petrified spouse inside.
“Need a push,” the woman asks?
The dynamic duo apply muscle to the metal as I take my foot off the brake and let the Caddie idle forward. This time the Goodyear’s grab and we speed up to 2 MPH without spinning. As we take off in slow motion, we both wave behind to thank our two saviors.
“Man, that was close,” I admit.
“I gotta pee,” says Rena.
“Hold on sweetie. Can’t stop now!”
Next is the Eisenhower tunnel. The storm has intensified. The radio informs us that Vail Pass has been closed to all Eastbound traffic. If we can just make the tunnel we’ll be able to coast down the Eastern slope to safety!
We don’t make it. All traffic comes to a halt. Marvin, myself, the Caddie and Rena are only 75 feet from the tunnel entrance. Something has happened and the Eastbound tunnel is blocked. At least we’re on the level and the wind is at our backs. In all probability, we can get started again when the time comes.
I check all systems. The Caddie seems fine. Marvin the Mad GPS is sulking quietly. But Rena is suffering advanced hydraulic failure.
“I really, really gotta pee,” she squeaks pathetically.
Frantically we scan the surroundings. We’re two miles high and above timberline. No friendly trees are in sight. It’s 20 degrees, in a white-out blizzard. The wind-chill must be stupendous.
“You can’t go outside,” I exclaim. “ You’ll freeze your toochis off.”
“I’ll go in the back seat then.”
Rena opens the door and climbs in the back.
The Caddie has every accessory they make only there’s no button for the backseat commode.
“I’ve got an empty Starbucks coffee cup. Will that help?” I ask.
“I hope it’s a Grande,” says Rena.
It’s not.
Rena squats on the floor in the back and aims at the cup. A quiet tinkling sound fills the plush Cadillac interior.
“Help,” yells Rena. “The cup's too small. I’m overflowing.”
“Try this.” I quickly hand back her Chaco moccasin.
Rena hands me the Starbucks cup and empties the rest of her bladder into her left shoe.
I empty shoe and cup into the storm outside. We both collapse in gales of laughter. Miraculously the rear mat of the Cadillac isn’t even damp.
“What National Rent-a-Car doesn’t know won’t hurt them,” I declare.
About ten minutes later, the tunnel re-opens and we coast down the canyon and off the ramp into the small village of Georgetown. There is no snow on the East side of the tunnel. My hands are shaking with relief. We stop to share a bowl of vegetarian chili at the the “Happy Cooker”. Afterward, Rena indulges in a little retail therapy. We re-embark and drive uneventfully to my Mom’s house in Lousiville. Total travel time 8 hours and 20 minutes for a 220 mile trip.
Despite engine failure, bladder failure and near-heart failure, we have succeeded in conquering the Continental Divide through a Colorado white-out blizzard.
“Score one for the seniors in the Caddie,” I say.
“Next time I get to pick the car,” says Rena. “That was way too scary!”
“Some adventures are scarier than others,” I admit. “That’s what makes them adventures.”
DAKTARI
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