Sometimes the Drive is the Adventure
Winter Conditions Driving through El Dorado National Forest
Greetings All!
Today’s newsletter is a little different. More an adventure story/travelogue. So please buckle up for this adventure.
Normally during the school year, my relatively mundane weekends involve a lot of soccer-watching from my couch, writing and some exercising like a good run at the state park. Normally, there is a nice, rejuvenating routine for my weekends.
Friday February 2, 2024, was not my normal wind down after a long work week with chicken enchiladas and a Modelo Negra at my favorite Mexican restaurant. Instead, after enduring hours of I-80 Friday traffic, I got to experience driving up the mountain in the snow. Until that Friday, I was under the (WRONG) impression that I enjoyed driving in the snow. Turns out there’s a big difference between driving in snow in South Lake Tahoe and driving in snow on the way to South Lake Tahoe.
Not long after picking up my friend Gini in Placerville, we reached the chain control section on Highway 50. Snow quickly covered the road soon after we crept past the chain control area, a little past Kyburz around 6:30pm. A couple inches of snow blanketed the road ahead as well as the pine trees on either side of us, so instead of driving between two lines painted on the road, I drove in the tire tracks of the vehicle ahead of me in our never-ending train of vehicles driving up the mountain at a whopping 20 miles per hour. The snow continued to fall, and the windshield wipers continue to hum in a back-and-forth rhythm.
Even though there were plenty of people ahead of us and behind us, I was thankful to not be alone in my big truck, which was the original plan until about 6:30am that morning. “I’m so glad you’re-”
At that moment, the front right tire spun as if the tire lost contact with the surface. “What happened?”
I tapped the brake, and a dreadful crunching sound followed. (WRONG move!)
Everyone knows (or should know) you don’t brake when your tires are sliding on ice. I knew this. But I wasn’t sure if I was sliding on ice, so I had to test it out. My Ford Expedition made things abundantly clear for me by abandoning our caravan and sliding towards the center of the snowy road.
“It’s just sliding,” Gini said, reassured me from the passenger seat, “you got this.” As if to argue with her, I tapped the brakes again. The Expedition completed its right-angle turn and continued to slide, complete with horrendous crunching noises, perfectly perpendicular to the train of cars now behind us.
A car driving down the mountain rounded the corner (at thankfully 20-25 miles per hour) as the Expedition continued its slide into the road for oncoming traffic.
“You’re doing good,” Gini said. She had confidence in me. The driver of the oncoming car apparently had confidence in me, too, because they did not slow down. I gripped the wheel and twisted against the slide because that was the only direction we could go in.
The maneuver worked!
Twisting around in her seat, Gini reported, “The cars behind stopped for us.”
One less thing I had to think about as I regained control of my vehicle. Having a copilot was essential. I guided the big truck back into its spot in line and took a steadying breath.
“That was not fun.” Last time my tires skidded in snow I was driving my Subaru Forester, about 15 years ago in a flat area coming to a stop between South Lake Tahoe and Kirkwood Ski Resort, and it had swerved a little. Nothing like a full 90-degree turn into the lane of oncoming traffic.
“You did great,” Gini said.
I didn’t feel great—great would avoid the skid in the first place. But Gini had a lot more experience driving to Tahoe for snowboarding day-trips, so if she thought I was doing good, I must be OK. I squashed the genuine desire to turn around and head for home and safety.
“As I was saying…I’m really glad you’re here.”
She laughed. Neither of us were certain what had happened beyond that I skidded on a chunk of ice that blended in with the snow beyond the line of tire tracks. This made me scan the snowy road in front of me like a scientist peering through a microscope, searching every inch of snow ahead of us for camouflaged ice. The problem with this method was chunks of dirty snow piled up on the base of my windshield as we drove, forcing me to raise my seat higher and forward to peer over the three inches of clumped snow. It became harder to see the snow in front of the truck.
“We’re near Sierra-at-Tahoe,” Gini said.
“Oh, good. I’m having a hard time seeing the road,” I said. I really, really didn’t want to pull over to the side of the road in all the accumulated snow, but… “I need to pull over.”
I found two other vehicles pulled off to the side and moved in front of them. The train of cars continued past us as Gini scraped off ice and snow from both the windshield and the wipers. I donned my snow hooded snow jacket and joined her, standing on the running board and leaning between the door and the truck to clean the glass even more with a washcloth.
Back in the truck, with the windshield wipers returning to their wiping hum, I marveled at the reassuring sight beautiful sight—seeing through the windshield again. I turned on the blinker to rejoin the train of cars, but to my surprise, there were no cars.
The only other car to be seen in the snowy night on a curvy mountain road surrounded by snow covered pine trees, was the car other behind us on the side of the road.
The positive to our predicament: at least I could see the road and trees again.
Now without a car or tracks to follow, and not at all sure which way the road went, I crept up the mountain. The windshield wipers continued to wipe away the snow, so at least I could see 10-15 feet ahead of us. And every so often, a car driving down the mountain would appear and give me an idea of which way the road turned ahead. It felt like we were the only fools driving up the mountain in a snowstorm.
After the longest five minutes of my life, Gini said, “There’s a slowdown ahead.”
“Yes!” This was a first. I was actually happy for stopped traffic on a one-lane road. “That means people!”
A minute or two later, taillights flashed and hope soared. People!
“Oh. It’s just another car pulled off to the side,” Gini reported.
Disappointment and a touch of something that felt a lot like fear weighted me down again. A minute or two later another sight was equally disappointing. I pointed at the Sierra-at-Tahoe turn off sign.
“Yeah,” Gini said, “I told you it was close.”
“But I hoped we had passed it a while ago.” Wishful thinking, obviously.
Soon enough we found what I was hoping for: the traffic! We took are place as the caboose in the long train of vehicles approaching Echo Summit, and I was so thankful for all the cars! We crept up the steep grade with the long curves on the exposed side of the mountain and as we approached the top of Echo Summit. Reuniting with the train of cars meant dirty snow congregated on my windshield again. After the slide, I wasn’t taking any risks. We repeated the maneuver from before, pulling off the road by other parked cars, and this time, there was still a train of cars to rejoin.
We rolled down the steep grade of Echo Summit in second gear the entire way.
When we reached the base of Echo Summit less than a mile from Myers, the snow stopped! Then it was an uneventful 30-minute drive to our resort on snow-covered streets–the type of driving in snow I enjoyed.
It was over our gourmet meal of microwaved chicken soup and Bagel Bites when Gini fessed up.
Turns out Gini said all those encouraging words not because she had confidence in my driving, but because she knew it wouldn’t do any good for the passenger to freak out. So it was her excellent acting skills and false praise that helped me through the scariest driving situation of my life.
What did I learn from this wild adventure of driving up the mountain in the snow? One, I think I learned why some vehicles with 4WD choose to pull over and brave the elements to put on chains (cables), because Gini and I were wondering why as we drove past stopped vehicles with 4WD at the chain control area. Two, I learned an ice scrapper is essential if driving in snow is a possibility. And most importantly three, I learned having a co-pilot is essential when driving in snowy, hazardous conditions.