Bound For Rexburg—Part II
Typically, when we go on a long trip, I drive most of it. This, despite the fact that all four of us are licensed to drive. The habit formed when the boys were younger, and has just naturally carried into their adulthood. Angela doesn’t like to drive on the freeways, or in places she doesn’t know, and if one of our sons drives, well, let’s just say there’s a lot of backseat driving going on. Not by me. At any rate, it’s just been the easiest thing to do.
This time, however, the only purpose for the trip was to get Trevor and Ana to Rexburg. I felt he should take ownership of the trip and drive the lion’s share up. There was a stretch of road, called the Blue Mountains, that wound up and then down east of Pendleton, with more curves than usual all the way to Baker City. I would take over driving that part, in the event we met some weather conditions that Trevor wasn’t used to driving in. No need to put ourselves into undue danger just because I felt he should be responsible for getting us there.
The morning dawned cold, but bright. There weren’t any clouds in the sky as we made our way along I-5 from home. At Portland, we crossed over to the I-84, the longest leg of our journey, as it would take us well into Idaho. Before reaching Pendleton and the Blue Mountains, however, we would have to drive through the Columbia Gorge.
During the winters here, we stay pretty close to home. We have headed to Southern California for Christmas, but normally the summits and passes into California are well maintained, and we’ve had good luck missing storms. To my recollection, however, this was the first time we would be traveling east into areas where the temperatures are colder and where snow can fall at any moment.
It wasn’t too far out of Portland that the skies clouded up. Fortunately, these clouds weren’t laden with moisture, but it did darken the way a little, and it dropped the temperatures. In the reports about the road conditions, I read that there were some icy spots reported around Cascade Locks, but as we passed each successive town, we found the roads to be dry. Still, between the frozen waterfalls plastered to the side of the rock walls to the south, and the gusts of wind which would rock the Durango as we hurtled through the Gorge, the reminder of just how treacherous the road could be was never ever far from our minds.
We kept things as light as possible, however. Even correcting Trevor’s driving was kept to a minimum. We did make one unscheduled stop at a rest area, because the girls had to go, which everyone but me took advantage of. Other than that, we made good time, and rolled into Pendleton during the lunch hour.
The idea was to refuel, find something to eat, and then be on your way. I definitely wanted to get through the Blue Mountains in the daylight. From what I could remember from our travels through them in the past, the downhill was where one needed to be the most careful, particularly on the return trip. There had been one particular journey made, over 25 years earlier, where three of us (thankfully, I wasn’t driving) had transversed the Blue Mountains in the dead of night during snowfall. Aside from our own headlights, which did not penetrate very far, we had the taillights of a couple semi-trucks which we could see as they rumbled past us. That is, before the snow they kicked up reached blizzard conditions and we could not longer see anything past the windshield.
How we got home in one piece, I’ll never know, but Divine Providence was definitely at work that night. Just as it had started out with this trip, thanks to the good weather and time we were having.
After filling the tank, we settled on Subway. The restaurant was not very full, so we worked quickly through the line, made our orders, and sat down to eat. Everyone was hungry, apparently, as we made quick work of our sandwiches. With the food devoured and the table tidied up, we headed back to the SUV, and I took the helm.
The foray into the Blue Mountains is about ten miles out of Pendleton proper. It seemed like less, probably because I wasn’t looking forward to the ascent. The previous weekend, a tour bus had gone over a cliff, killing most of the people on board, and we would be going right past where it left the road. Of course, the weather conditions were different, but even that was known to change from the foothills into the higher elevation.
We’d made it up the first switchback and were headed into the second curve when the back of the Durango slipped. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to catch the attention of the entire group. I corrected, kept us in our lane, thinking we’d hit a patch of ice. I slowed down, but as I did, it became apparent that something else was responsible for our sudden predicament.
TO BE CONTINUED
