Mountains.......Part IV

On three occasions would the mountains and the weather literally threaten my continued existence on this planet. The first aforementioned trek that had me hauling the U-Haul up a snowy Loveland Pass en route to our date with destiny at The Riverside was simple child’s play compared to three that would follow. These three trips were so bad that it is hard to pick the worst – perhaps the last of the three was the least deadly, only because it occurred during the day, although the snow was heaviest and the visibility probably the worst of the three occasions. Also, by the time of the third blizzard drive over the pass, I was something of a seasoned veteran; instead of peeing my pants and crying out to God for mercy, I was resigned to just say “the hell with it”, and forge onward. I was also in serious financial straits at that time, and my demise at the hands of a Berthoud Pass blizzard would have at least put my kids in good financial stead for the long term, the very least I could do for them having blown their inheritance on a fetid money pit in an out-of-the-way shithole of a town.

It was the last week of February in 2008, and we’d owned the hotel for two months. We still lived in Kansas City and were relying on the talents of three early 20-somethings to manage our life investment from 600 miles away. I had a business reason to be in Denver, a trade show, and needed to transport a show booth and samples along with a business associate. Had the trade show been in Indy, Chicago or Orlando, we would have loaded the booth and whatever else on a Yellow Freight truck, and boarded Southwest Airlines to get to our show; but Denver afforded me the unique opportunity to save some freight costs, airline costs and….oh, as luck would have it I could also haul some more nick-nacks and furnishings to our new purchase in the Rockies, just a few short miles beyond Denver.

We loaded up another gish darn 9x12 U-Haul and planned on pulling out of KC at 7:00 AM – a drive that would normally put us in Hot Sulphur around 5:00 PM MST, but pulling the trailer would add another two hours, assuming there were no issues with weather, and none were predicted. The ‘we’ that was making this journey was of course me, my business associate John, and for the purpose of adding a little color to the venture, I brought along Crazy Mike, our terribly unreliable and always overpaid painter and handyman. Crazy Mike had early on exclaimed an interest in not only de-wallpapering and painting The Riverside for us, he had also expressed intentions of signing on permanently in Colorado as the live-in handyman, jack-of-all-trades kind of a guy that every 103-year old hotel, bar and restaurant relies upon to keep the operation running smoothly. Remember the Newhart Show ? – Crazy Mike was Larry, Daryl and Daryl all rolled into one, only singularly he probably smelled worse than the three of them combined.

30 miles west of Kansas City, at 8:30 AM, we made an unscheduled stop at a U-Haul dealer in Lawrence, KS and unloaded the trailer, a trailer that had been crammed so full of this, that and the other that there wasn’t sufficient room left in the loaded trailer for a small fart. The wheel bearings on the trailer were bad, and every time we got our speed beyond 45 MPH, the trailer shook like a bartender at a martini competition. Also, we’d apparently loaded the trailer badly – too much weight here, not enough there.

At 10:30, we were re-loaded into a new trailer, our weight properly distributed, and off we went onward to the western wilds of Kansas. Good, clear, dry roads had us making relatively good time, our speed averaging 65 MPH, a marvel to me after having previously pulled a trailer over icy roads at 50 MPH, feeling then like I was cheating death with every foot forward. We arrived in Denver just after rush hour, and all seemed in line for an 8:00 PM arrival at The Riverside.

No sooner had we started the climb up I-70, just barely in the foothills and still in the western city limits of Denver, than the un-forecasted snow started – heavy and wet, but not accumulating, as the temperature was only in the upper 30’s. Up and up we went, the snow increasing in intensity, the temperature dropping in linear opposite tandem; the snow was now accumulating at a rapid rate, along with my stress level. The stress was compounded by the constant chatter of Crazy Mike in the back seat, all but childlike, asking, wishing, hoping and then pleading with me to pull over so he could pee. (Perhaps his decision to have that third Mountain Dew was not a prudent one.) Right before the town of Idaho Springs, about 30 miles west of Denver, the first sign of civilization after your initial up-down and all around roller coaster ride on I-70 into the mountains, there is a short tunnel – and right before the tunnel is the only shoulder, maybe a 50-yard stretch of shoulder, that a car could pull off for a guy to take a pee. There aren’t trees, or a little ditch that you could hunker down in for some privacy; just enough space for a car to pull over and Crazy Mike to get out and pee against the face of the adjoining mountain, cars whizzing by all the while, snow blinding the eyes of any who would wish to peruse – this is what occurred…..and mercifully, the whining stopped.

Unlike my first U-Haul haul through the mountains, I’d decided on taking Berthoud Pass, which was some 30 miles shorter than the Loveland Pass route, and I’d decided after my previous bitch of a journey up icy Highway 9 to Hot Sulphur, that Berthoud’s snaky twists and turns couldn’t be any worse. We struggled to get to Empire, the turnoff from I-70 onto Highway 40, the snow now blinding and building on the road at a rate that is unimaginable to flatlanders…certainly this flatlander. As we started the ascent onto the snaking Berthoud Pass road, snow coming at a rate of maybe 2’/hour, I passed a State highway employee standing at the gate that closes the pass….we were to be the last car allowed over the pass. Damn our luck.

Berthoud Pass, from initial climb to final descent, is 14 miles with 5 switchbacks up and 5 down: I got to know them like I know the back of my hand, and hate them with an ever increasing intensity.

If you're so inclined, cut and paste the following link, watch it, and imagine making this drive at night, at the tail end of a 10 hour drive across Kansas & Colorado, in a white-out blizzard, pulling a loaded U-Haul with a whimpering, foul-smelling painter in your back seat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5UXyNm914I&feature=fvsr

This particular evening, I drove up the mountain in a blinding storm, never exceeding 10 MPH. I was sturdy, resolute and complete in the knowledge that there was no going back – we were locked in, and I had to get us out. When we hit the top of the pass, 11,000 feet at the top of the mountain in a windswept blizzard, both John’s and my need to rid ourselves of Mountain Dew kicked in, and our stop-off pee at the apex was fulfilling mostly in the notion that it might be our last, and I wouldn’t have to worry about rescue personnel finding us dead with soiled britches.

Down the mountain I went, the U-Haul trailer pressing on my back like a 2000-pound zit. I was in 1st gear the entire time, traveling no more than 5 MPH, yet every second of the journey I felt that my car legs were about to fall from under me; and this says nothing of the visibility issue, as I was struggling to hang on to the car and the trailer, but to go where, as I couldn’t see but one foot beyond the front of the car.

I’ll be honest and tell you that I prayed fiercely during that 14 mile, hour-long trek over the mountain. I questioned myself, asking ‘what in the world have you done to put yourself in harm’s way like this…you’re out of your element to the point that you’re jeopardizing your life.’ God answered my prayers and got me down that mountain, only to put me in the center of Middle Park, where the snow raged, the wind blew a gale, and visibility ceased to exist on any human level. I still had 35 long miles to go before I would hopefully be able to climb out of this rolling coffin.

Most highways these days have slits cut into the pavement at the edge of the shoulder; if you should doze while driving and start to veer off the road, the tires hit the slits and make a loud

BDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

noise that zaps you back awake and into your proper travel lane. In Colorado, those slits have nothing to do with waking you up – they’re there to keep you from driving off the road in a white-out blizzard, which no question I would have done innumerable times that evening without the slits. After 16 of the longest hours of my life, we pulled up to the front of The Riverside at 10:00 PM MST. I waited in the SUV for a bit, absolutely spent, while Crazy Mike, ever being Johnny-on-the-spot when it came to mechanical and maintenance issues, went into the hotel to get a crowbar, which he would ultimately use to pry my rigid, ashen fingers from the steering wheel.

To Be Concluded…………