During our time together, Chuck and I worked hard and made sure we took time to play. It seemed without intention that we were checking things off our bucket list, which was a very nice feeling, an accomplishment of sorts; the last one and the most profound, the Beach House, which is a story I will save for another time.
Being best friends, we enjoyed each other's company and always had a really good time; our time off was our playtime together and we embraced it wholeheartedly, no shame. We went away several times a year, mostly in the winter on skiing trips with his ski club or on our own, or to Disney every other year on an off week when we could have the park to ourselves, where we went on every ride, 2 and 3 times in a row if it was our favorite and never missed one show; basically acting like two kids in a candy store, eating anything we wanted, doing anything we felt like, left to our own devices and laughing a lot!
This particular trip we were driving across the country to Wyoming, Jackson Hole, to meet up with Chuck’s Ski CLub and ski for the week. It was late November, cold and snowy, as we headed out of the driveway, due west, in my 4Runner, filled with warm clothes, ski gear and Kholie, our four legged child. We allowed ourselves five days to get to our final destination and stopped in Indiana, Kansas and the Wizard of Oz Museum, and finally Colorado where we spent two days skiing. I do not remember all of the details of those first days, however the final day, the day I drove our last leg to Jackson Hole, I will never forget any one detail of how it felt, what I saw, and later on what it left me with.
We left Colorado, traveling on I-80 West and turned north on US-191 which would eventually turn into US-189 as you traveled across the mountain range to reach Jackson Hole. Back then we read maps, I still do. I remember starting down on a long lonely road, not seeing any vehicle coming towards us or ahead of us and nothing but the uninhibited landscape. You could see for miles. It was sunny, a wide open road and even wider open sky with fluffy white clouds, cold and beautiful. I was so glad there was no one else on the road because I could take everything in around me, selfishly, and take my time. As we began to ascend into the mountains, the road started to lift us up as if we were taking off, on a runway, into the clouds, and as we rose higher and higher, the ground on either side disappeared and it looked like we were flying in mid air - nothing on either side of us but sky. As we climbed even higher still, the view opened up still more and I could see mesas dotted all around us and us on the same level with the tops of them; it was surreal. When the road finally flattened out, we were actually driving across the top of our mesa, completely engulfed in this open sky and clouds, you were right there with them, literally, in the sky, and for a few moments I was so caught up in this, I lost feeling of the car underneath me and my traveling companions beside me and became a part of it all. It was an indescribable feeling.
As we moved further up north into the mountain range, we again were surrounded by land and trees and it began to snow and snow hard. Having driven since I was 18, all over the country and Europe, through all kinds of crazy weather, I was not at all worried, not yet anyway. The snow was already accumulated and coming down extremely hard the further we drove and I had the defroster and wipers on full blast. I leaned forward into the dash to get a better view. When we entered the mountain pass, the gates to get through stood open and so we proceeded, but by this time I had become a bit nervous. The road wrapped around the mountain in circles lined by trees on our right, oncoming traffic and no guard rail on the left. After about 10 minutes or so, I noticed there were no other cars oncoming, nothing except white and a very steep cliff. Hmmm
I hugged the tree line on my right and continued to climb the mountain road, winding round and round, listening to the engine wine more and more as the incline steepened the higher we climbed. I remember thinking of how deadly going over that cliff side would be.
Coming around another curve, the tree line abruptly stopped and we emerged out into a sea of white; no color, no defining marks, nothing, except white, all white, everything white, as if someone had erased everything in the picture and I was now staring at a big blank white canvas. In that instant I lost all of my bearings. My immediate reaction; I lifted my foot slightly off the gas.
Almost instantaneously, a very large hand clamped down on my right thigh and Chuck said to me in a very stern and even voice, “Do not take your foot off the gas”. Not diverting my eyes from the windshield, I replied, “but I can’t see the road”, and he said again, more stern but calm, “Whatever you do, do not take your foot off the gas”. (Later that evening after we had settled in, he would explain to me why.) So I pressed my foot slowly back down, to where it had been moments before, and with the steering wheel in hand, white knuckling it, I prayed with all my might not to bring us over the cliff and down to our deaths. And so it was to be for what seemed an eternity, that I held my eyes wide open, with my face almost pressed against the windshield to try to make out any indication I was still on the road, held my breath not daring to do anything else but drive, and prayed like a crazy person, all the while with that large warm hand now resting on top of my thigh. We made our way to the top of the pass and then began to descend downward. It wasn’t until after we hit the tree line on the other side that I exhaled, loosened up on the steering wheel just a bit and thanked God and Chuck for bringing us through. He retracted his arm back to his lap, neither one of us said a word.
When we arrived at the bottom of the mountain, the gates were closed and we learned that right after we had entered the pass they had closed it down due to the snowstorm and treacherous roads; it was a miracle we made it through. As they opened the gate for us to get back on the road, I remember passing the long line of trucks and other assorted vehicles that would have to wait until morning to be let through. I do not remember the rest of the drive, just that it was quiet and uneventful.
As time went on, I would relive that event over and over,to process and sort out every detail, the timing, the stillness, the absence of what was moments before. How quiet Chuck had been all up to that point even though I was having tons of conversations in my head, but I realized that he was driving just as hard as I was and had been at the ready should anything go awry. How both of us remained calm in this situation, as well as many more that would come, and we carried through on what we needed to do at that very moment, not even a thought of anything else. And we did it without words.
Even though I had lost all bearings on where I was going and the road had become treacherous, he reminded me that I needed to keep going, albeit more present and deliberate. The focus had to stay put, stay steady and stay pure to reach the end point.
And still to this day, as I drive through my life on these treacherous stretches of road, I can hear him say as plain as day, “Do not take your foot off the gas.”
Don’t worry, I won’t.
