Birthday-Blizzard, Mother-Daughter Utah Adventure
See those blue pools on the canyon floor? Those are the Potash Ponds and they collect chemicals. No swimming there. But they’re stitched into the scenery of Dead Horse State Park.
Last year, I celebrated my 30th birthday with my mom in the middle of a Utah blizzard. (Turns out, celebrating your end-of-November birthday in a state whose motto is "Life Elevated" can get a bit tricky.) But we were after dramatic desert dreamscapes and sprawling red rock scenery. And to be totally honest, it somehow never really occurred to me that we might run into some serious snow, even though we were traveling to a state that's pretty big into winter sports and activities. So much so that they hosted the Winter Olympics about two decades ago. But that didn't really sink in until a few days before our departure date when the weather forecasts started looking ominous.
I had us flying out on Thanksgiving Day because a) my birthday was the very next day, and I was determined to wake up in National Park territory. And b) I was more than happy to skip out on the stench and unsightliness that is a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.
I know I'm in the vast minority here with my hatred for that wretched meal, but still, I'm not a heartless heathen – I was mentally committed to getting my mother some form of turkey on Thanksgiving, even if the best we could find in the middle-of-nowhere Utah was some turkey jerky. But I was personally delighted over the thought of not having to look at or get a whiff of that slow-roasted, stuffed carcass lying on the table next to that gelatinous canned gunk that moves with the vibration of everything happening around it. And the potatoes prepared in the least appetizing form a potato can take – pure unadulterated mush. Same goes for the turnips, whatever the heck those are. Even the rolls…those potato dinner rolls, Hawaiian rolls...... they're sweet...rolls......who ever heard of a sweet roll?! Why would I want a sweet roll?? This is dinner, not dessert! I want no part of them. And the gravy! Don't even get me started on the gravy. That thick, murky, brownish-gray goo that reminds me of when my cat used to...yuck! Nevermind! I'm losing my appetite just thinking about that whole disagreeable display.
No offense Mom and Aunt Fran, I'm sure the turkey bodies you've prepared are the tastiest, but you know me...fussy as a feather in flight. I don't do meat on the bone; I'll take my turkey in cold cut form and smothered in mayo, thank you very much. Give me a Subway sandwich and a bag of chips, as long as they're not BBQ-flavored or Sun Chips, and I'll call it a Happy Thanksgiving Day.
But really, for an ideal feast, give me many manicottis, mushrooms and raviolis stuffed with yum, pasta with cheese with pasta and more cheese, big fat Sicilian pizzas, oysters, clams, sushi, bagels with lox and caviar and capers, bacon egg and cheeses with yolks that never run dry. And everything covered in Nutella for dessert. Even KitKats and Italian bread. Now that's my kind of feast.
To be even more honest, until college, I was under the impression that the reason we eat what we traditionally eat on Thanksgiving is to be grateful for all the good food we get to enjoy all year round. So to express our gratitude, we give up all that good grub and go back to eating the way the pilgrims and the natives were forced to eat. (Bless their poor befouled bellies.)
And I was always under the impression that everyone else knew this to be true as well. I thought it was just something that went unsaid – something we all suffered through in silence together. I must've made up collective, "Ugh, it's Thanksgiving again" groans in my head all those years because I'll never forget how thunderstruck I was when my college friends weren't sarcastically fantasizing about going home for Thanksgiving dinner, but expressing genuine enthusiasm for it. And I was as baffled by them as they were by me.
So anyway, I hope you can digest that better than I can––ok, I'll stop now. But now I'm sure it makes more sense why flying from New York to Salt Lake City then indulging in gas station food on a four-hour road trip to paradise felt like a pretty fine Thanksgiving to me. And my mom, being the great sport that she is, was willing to forgo her much-loved, annual feast to trek from port to port in her least favorite weather. And she did it all with a genuine smile in celebration of her still-very-little, four-foot-ten girl turning 30. But there were a lot of obstacles we had to overcome before we could even get to destination number one: Capitol Reef National Park. At first, we weren't sure we were even getting out of New York because a big snowstorm was coming, and even bigger storms were about to ravage the great state of Utah, just in time for our arrival. The night before we left, we learned that SLC was under a blizzard warning, and the nearby Wasatch Mountains were under an avalanche watch. Other grim warnings like, "Travel could be very difficult to impossible" and "Snow accumulations of 1 to 3 feet. Winds gusting as high as 60 mph at times," were being broadcast throughout the vast majority of the state and virtually everywhere we'd be driving for the next few days. And the superstorm was slated to last from 11/28 through 11/30 (my birthday being the 29th).
Oh, and did I mentioned that my mom is allergic to the cold? Yup, you read that right. A tiny percentage of the population is actually allergic to cold temperatures and can break out in hives and require immediate medical attention if they're exposed for too long (and it doesn't take long at all to have a reaction). The fact that she came on this wacky winter adventure should tell you a lot about her. And adding to our handicaps, we both suffer from altitude sickness at elevations as low as 6,500 feet above sea level, and I suffer from extreme motion sickness (Mom less severe). Eight times out of ten, I'm fine when I drive, but it all depends how windy the roads are (I always look them up in advance and plan alternate routes if any look too windy). It also how visibility is. Once while driving along the south rim of the Grand Canyon during an incredibly foggy snowstorm, I became very sick very quickly. I think because I could barely see a foot in front of me, it messed with eyes and equilibrium and triggered that godawful thing I wish I could ax out of me.
Luckily, our flight took off without a hitch, and we got to chatting with a kind gentleman who was on the last leg of his journey home from Israel and not too concerned about the weather. When we explained where we were going: Capitol Reef NP, Goblin Valley SP, Dead Horse SP, Arches NP, and Canyonlands NP, he enthusiastically approved of and encouraged each one. We told him we were a bit nervous to be doing so much driving in potentially very inclement weather, and as the true Utahn that he was, he very coolly replied, "You'll be ok. Make sure you've got all-wheel drive and pick up some chains too, just to be safe." He almost stopped his sentence there, but our faces must've told him that we didn't know diddly about chains or what to do with 'em. "For your tires…chain up your tires, just to be safe. Any truck stop should have them." My mother and I played it cool, "Oh yea, great idea! Never would've thought of that. Thank you so much." I wondered if the same questions were bubbling up in her brain as well, like: How do the chains stay on the tires? How do we put them on the tires? Can you show us how to put them on the tires? Will there be someone available at the truck stop to help us put the chains on the tires? Are we in danger if we don't put the chains on the tires? Are we in danger if we put the chains on the tires incorrectly? But this poor sweet man had just been traveling for 20+ hours, so I kept my questions buried along with my concern that Budget would be fresh out of AWD SUV rentals.
But life was good…my mom used miles to book business class seats for us, and we were ecstatic to discover that we were actually in Delta One FLATBED seats. So I popped two extra drowsy Dramamine, kicked my boots off, and curled up like a giddy little seahorse with my complimentary pillow and blanky. And by the time I woke up, we were over the snowy Salt Lake. We gathered our bags, made our way to the rental car center, and were so relieved that we hadn't booked Avis or Enterprise because their lines were almost out the sliding-glass double doors! We barely had to wait at the Budget counter, and as requested (on a somewhat anxious call I'd made days before), they did, in fact, have an AWD SUV for us. We were golden!
We got situated in a beautiful, snow-white Mitsubishi Outlander, made a quick car picnic of airport TURKEY sandwiches then headed straight for I-15 South. It was snowing alright – more than flurrying, but by no means were these blizzard conditions. The road was white, but it seemed to be more salty than snowy. "We're in Utah! They know what they're doing out here. They're prepared for this stuff …it's not like we're in Georgia, and everything's gonna shut down over an inch!" "Oh yea, we're fine. If it stays like this, we're totally fine. And we're heading south, so I think we're heading out of it, so we should be fine." I love how we calm ourselves and each other. This is our natural way when we're together, my mother and I. Deep down, we were both concerned about getting there, about getting stuck, about getting altitude sick – we'd discussed it several times before. But we always bring it back to the positive and the everything-is-solvable mentality she's been impressing upon me for ages. After all, what's the point of worrying when what will be will be. The outcome won't be determined by whether or not you worried. So enjoy the ride! And more than anything else, I was really excited to have her with me – to be taking her on an ArcticTumbleweed adventure; vacation my way! I just couldn't wait to achieve and overcome and experience all of it with her.
The snow picked up and tapered off. We laughed, listened to my "Utah with Mommy!!!" playlist comprised of Beatles, Dead, some light Dylan, a little doo-wop, some CCR, and the likes, laughed some more about how, "If it stays like this, wow––what a breeze!" We were about two hours out with less than two to go; fully stocked on protein snacks, candy, and water; fully immersed in our what-a-breeze mentality when the snow started falling large and hard. "Ok, this is ok," I said, trying to reassure one or both of us. We'd been off the interstate for, oh maybe 20 miles or so when we lost cell service, and GPS signal started getting spotty. I remembered all the times this happened to me on solo trips and how I'd either squeal with excitement for a new challenge or curse Verizon loudly for my whole empty car to hear. But this felt different. I had precious cargo with me, and I was responsible for bringing her here, there, and everywhere safely.
I tried not to overload myself with pressure. All I could do was drive safely and use my best judgment. Thinking of it that way, I felt good being in control. Confident. "Who's a tougher road warrior than me?" But I couldn't help but wonder what laid on the road ahead of us, as the snow was certainly sticking all along UT-24. We exchanged a few, "I'm really not too worried about it because…" and "… I'm sure it won't get much worse than this" sentiments until the amount of snow that was accumulating wouldn't allow for anymore placation. Huge, thick snowflakes were being whipped into a frenzy by violent wind gusts before their abrupt plummet to the road, quickly creating a great snowy slip and slide that stretched far and white. The temperature was below freezing, and it didn't take long for there to be no visual distinguishing between where the covered grass met the covered pavement. Shit.
We knew we were well past the point of no return. Way too far into the drive to turn back, plus, who knows what kind of trouble was ensuing behind us. According to all the reports we'd been hearing, we made it out of Salt Lake City just in time. But how much worse was it going to get on the road ahead? We were currently in full-on blizzard conditions. Driving through thick, dense, snow on a two-lane road with no oncoming traffic and no tire tracks to be seen anywhere, but trailing behind us. We were the first ones to drive through that icy hell in Sevier County, Utah.
We passed a snowy sign that said elevation 7,500 feet. My eyes widened. "I could've sworn the highest we'd climb would be 6,800 feet. I could've sworn! Are you ok? How do you feel?" My mom said she felt fine, but I was starting to feel not so fine...a menacing mix of anxiety and altitude ick. "Keep drinking," we said together. Hydration is the best thing you can do at altitude. I couldn't believe we were that high up, although it would explain the sudden increase in snow and the rapid decrease in temperature. I couldn't believe it! I meticulously map out each route in advance and research the specific elevation levels along each road I'll be traveling on to avoid AMS. How could I have missed this? The next sign we saw said 7,800 feet. WTF?! How much higher were we going to go?!
My palms grew clammy. I was completely queasy, guzzling Tums and water and hoping with every fiber of my being that we'd see a summit sign soon. It's all downhill after the summit, literally. But since we were still climbing and the snow was still falling hard, fast and strong, the worst of it really wasn't behind us yet. I felt the car working harder. 8,100 feet. I could've screamed and cried, then screamed some more and bit the steering wheel. How?!?! How could I have missed this on the elevation map?! "You ok, Mom?" "I'm fine, honey. Are you ok? Do you want to take a break?" I didn't. I just wanted to power through.
We ended up hitting a maximum altitude of over 8,400 feet somewhere between the towns of Koosharem and Loa. There had to have been a solid six to seven inches on the road, and we were crawling with heavy snow still falling. I still felt sick, but passing the summit was the push I needed to tough it out. A little while later, when the temperature rose by one degree and a car passed us driving in the opposite direction, I felt even more relief. We're gonna be ok. We're ok. We even laughed. The further we got, the more the conditions improved. It was still thicker snow than I'd ever driven through in my entire life, but I showed myself I could do it – feeling ick and all. Eventually, we made it to Capitol Reef, which sits around 6,800 feet (where we were at least), and get this…there wasn't a speck of snow to be seen! Not a flake! It's amazing to think what a difference the altitude can make.
We didn't spend much time there that day because there wasn't much daylight left, and we wanted to get checked in and eat before everything closed up in the tiny town of Torrey. Turns out, the only place to eat was our hotel, and the only thing they were serving was Thanksgiving dinner. I reverted to sad child mode then half-adult mode to fight the urge to cry. But my mom did that precious mom thing that I'm not sure if all mom's do, but it's Mare's signature. "Oh, you know what," she said to the waiter after he explained that the fixed-price Thanksgiving buffet was the sole dinner option, "My daughter actually doesn't…she can't eat Thanksgiving food…she has…dietary… I'm so sorry…could she possibly get, maybe a grilled cheese sandwich and fries? We'll pay the fixed-price amount...she just really can't eat the turkey and all that good stuff." Let me remind you that this was the eve of my 30th, not my 3rd birthday. Our sweet waiter had a trace of doubt on his face, but he sympathetically complied and didn't even charge us the full, fixed-price amount. Sold! Done! I had my grilled cheese and fries in the bag, and I don't think it was even a regular menu item. Perhaps on the kid's menu. My savior, my hero Mommy!!! AND she got her Thanksgiving dinner!
What a day, what an experience, and as it turned out…we'd face a few more challenges as soon as the very next day. My trips always reaffirm my strength. And going through these experiences together grew new branches on our deeply rooted mother-daughter bond.
So, I'll leave you with a little thought-provoker that'd been popping up in my head before, during, and after that trip. If you were stuck inside an elevator, would you rather be completely alone or have someone with you? On one hand, if you're with another person and they're freaking out, you might be more likely to remain calm because someone has to, right? Or if they were calm and you started to panic, you might be more likely to do so audibly because you'd have an audience there to be your sounding board. But what if you were alone in the elevator, with no one to freak out to? Wouldn't you have to stay strong for yourself? You're relying on yourself––you can't fall to pieces. Who'd be there, but you, to pick up the pieces?
It reminds me of what an awful patient I am when I get blood drawn or have to do anything medically-related beyond stepping on those big, cool scales. Times when I've had a friend or parent with me for moral support, I've been more likely to cry, panic...audibly freak out. Whereas once I started going alone, I was less likely to do so. Unless, of course, the nurse broke my rules and started describing things that were or weren't happening to me, "Ya know, it's just the oddest thing…the needles in, but no blood's coming out." Squeamish Sally like myself can't hear remarks like that without nearly fainting even when I'm already lying down while they're stickin' me. But I digress.
My point is this: when we're alone, we have to rely solely on ourselves. Had I been alone climbing to the snow-covered summit, feeling sick and scared all by myself, I would've had to hold it all together to get myself there safely. My mom wasn't freaking out so I very well could have, and I did let little bits of fear out here and there like an overly inflated balloon, and if she'd needed me to, I would've snapped into caretaker mode on the spot. I think many people find it a lot easier to be strong for someone else and tend to their needs than they find it to take care of their own. I can almost hear a few of my friends saying, "Oh, I would've lost my mind if I was alone." But in the words of my mother, "Don't put the whammy on yourself." Give yourself a bit more credit. If you're strong enough to save others, then you're strong enough to save yourself too. And no one is more important than you. Always remember that. If taking care of you feels hard, then practice it harder. Just like the safety information that's presented on the plane, "In the event of an emergency: be sure to secure your oxygen mask before helping others."
