Snowbound in Colorado

Greeley, Colorado, Spring 1992

Late morning, it was a cloudless warm day when we left Greeley, Colorado for a day trip to Boulder, about an hour away by car. My husband Jon, daughter Madeleine (nearly 3), and I (eight months pregnant) often sought respite from the town with “wide streets and narrow minds,” by venturing to nearby towns Fort Collins, Denver, and Boulder. When we lived there in 1992, there was one coffeehouse in all of Greeley, population 65,000. So we fled to Boulder – we called it “civilization” --about once a month.

My husband, historian and college professor, did research in the library at the University of Colorado he could not do at his place of employment, the University of Northern Colorado. Melanie and I meanwhile researched bookstores and coffeehouses on the mall on Boulder’s main street. She adored all the rocks and bronzed animals to climb on the center mall. Boulder’s mall is a small kid and parent paradise.

Our lovely sunny day came to an abrupt end at around 6pm when the storm clouds gathered, and it started to rain. Dave was out of the library by then so we hopped in the car to head back to Greeley. Sometime before the highway out of Boulder met the I-25, the rain turned to snow. By this time, it was also dark.

Big heavy flakes fell rapidly and the traffic on the freeway was already slowing. Ignorant of how fast a snow storm can dump in Colorado in the spring, we entered the on ramp to I-25 and drove north, right into the eye of the storm. Pretty soon the snow was coming down in clumps and accumulating around us, shortening visibility to about 20 feet. Cars in front of us were slowing to 25-30 mph and we began to have trouble with traction and visibility. We had been driving for less than an hour and by then there were probably ten or twelve inches on the ground. Cars began to get stuck and were littering the emergency lanes on the freeway. Several tow trucks were attempting to help stranded cars, and we passed one of them in the ditch on the right.

Finally we reached a point where the cars in front of us in both lanes could go no further so we likewise came to a halt. I watched a car in front of us drive through the ditch to the frontage road successfully, so suggested to Jon that we try the same. Since I had more experience driving in snow, I took my pregnant belly and plopped it behind the wheel of our 1989 Chevy Cavalier. Madeleine, recently toilet-trained, now had to pee (and so did I, of course!). I gunned it and drove straight into the ditch, only to stick there like a marshmallow on a graham cracker. Lots of wheel-spinning, no movement.

So there we were, stuck in a ditch in a snowstorm, snow up to the door panels, with no jackets for any of us -- much less hats, mittens or boots. We had a blanket to wrap Madeleine in, a vestige of my Midwestern upbringing. We also had a shovel, a rope, and flares. What to do with them in this situation? Not much. Without a cell phone we could not even call a tow truck (like there was still one available, and state patrol officers were pretty busy by now!)

We chose not to spend the night in the car – we heard news reports the next day that several hundred people did. Instead we decided to walk the frontage road as far as we could to find a phone and call someone in Greeley to pick us up. Wrapping Madeleine up in the blanket, Jon carried her and we trudged up to the frontage road. We didn’t walk 100 feet before a van pulled over to ask us if we needed help. A Good Samaritan family that lived nearby saw what was happening and went trolling for storm victims along the frontage road. They told us they’d bring us back to their trailer, and didn’t appear to look like mass murderers, so we hopped in.

We got inside the trailer only to discover that the power was out. Ten adults and six kids in a trailer with one toilet and no lights. This was going to be a long night. Our hosts brought out all the blankets and pillows they owned. Sleeping on the floor eight months pregnant was not ideal, but it sure beat sleeping in the car in a ditch in a snowstorm. To Madeleine it was all just one big adventure… sleepover! There were five other kids to be fascinated by and she got to sleep on the floor!

Next morning it was another bright sunny day. So Jon went with the man of the house, Bill, to rescue our car. I stayed behind with Madeleine drinking carrot juice and white bread toast while the remaining guests sorted out how they were getting to their homes.

Before I had my first sip of carrot juice, my hostess, asked me if I was “saved.” Upon learning that I and my family members were Jewish, she proceeded to explain how that meant that I would “rot in hell” if I didn’t accept Jesus as my personal lord and savior. Being a diplomatic sort who did not want to offend my host in such a situation, I responded with nods and facial expressions of concern and curiosity.

It was a difficult situation at best, and I wondered what Madeleine thought of this display of religiosity. Somehow she does not remember this whole adventure, however, so I doubt it had much impact. Her dad returned before too long, thankfully! Car mostly intact except for the brake line which suffered under the towing chain’s abrasion.

We got back to Greeley by noon, thankful to be alive and living in faculty apartments with running water and electricity, orange shag carpets and all.