The Blizzard of 1983

Reading about this week’s blizzard in Colorado takes me back to the early 1980’s when we lived in the mountains of central Idaho. I find it interesting how certain events and memories just file themselves back in the recesses of our mind until something draws them out. “March 4-6, 1983: 18.7 inches falls at Stapleton Airport, while areas of south metro Denver get socked with 26 inches”.

On March 1st of 1983 my mother called to wish Chandra a Happy Birthday 10th birthday. When I got back on the phone she sadly told me that my Aunt Juanita was very ill and wasn’t expected to live much longer. I was already incredibly homesick and being so far away from my family in Kentucky during this sad time was breaking my heart. Even though spring break was a few weeks away, I begged and pleaded with my husband (the ex-husband - not the great one I have now) to let me drive home. He initially refused for many logical (and a few selfish reasons) but eventually, fed up by my tears and pleading, he relented. However, he did lecture me on how foolish and dangerous it would be to drive through the Rockies in March. I didn’t care. My need to be home with my family overrode any good sense I might have had. Therefore, a few days later the girls and I loaded up our van with snacks and drinks, blankets and games and school work that had to be done while they were away from school and headed east. Chuck could not come with us and for reasons no longer important, he sent me with no money to spend, just a gas credit card to keep me on the road.
As we drove south from Hailey, Idaho towards Salt Lake City the sky was blue and clear. That leg of the drive took about five hours during which the girls played games and kept each other company. They both fell asleep as we approached Salt Lake and I was glad they did. The wind had become quite strong and I had a tough time keeping the van on the highway. I listened on the CB radio to the truckers discussing weather and road conditions. The closer we got to the city, the harder the wind was gusting. There were reports of trains being blown over on the tracks and truckers were advising each other to get off the expressway as soon as they could and head through the mountains. Exasperated from trying to keep the van steady as we were blown from lane to lane I followed the 18-wheelers east onto Route 40. Snow started falling as we climbed the mountains heading toward Park City.
At the top of the first pass the landscape was a winter wonderland in the early afternoon. The winding road through the mountains was breathtaking and I wished I had had time to stop and spend a day or two. However, the snow was becoming heavier by the hour and darkness fell early in the mountains. Soon there was no one on this lonely stretch of road but me. The higher I drove the deeper the snow. It had been pushed and piled higher than my van windows on either side of the road with just the two lanes visible. I drove for hours as the night turned into the wee morning hours. There was no where to pull over to rest in the small towns that were few and far between. With the near blinding snow I probably missed many opportunities to pull off. Luckily I had filled the tank near Salt Lake. I drove slowly with my bright lights on to avoid running up a snow bank or running over, or into, an animal. Because of the wall of snow on either side of the road hundreds of rabbits were hopping in front of me as well as the occasional elk or deer who found travel easier on the highway. Sadly a few rabbits perished due to my inability to dodge them all.
I stopped for gas as we descended into Denver just before my tank went dry. As I paid the clerk, he advised me that the highway was about to be closed due to the heavy snow. I was surprised that a snowstorm would slow down such a large city sitting in the Rockies. He said that there were not enough plows to keep the highway cleared with the amount of snow that was falling. The wind was sending it into drifts as it blew across the plains east of the city.
I had no money for a motel and even if we could find a rest area, we had only enough food and drinks to last another day. It had taken more than 20 hours to drive to Denver what normally took 14 and not wanting to be stranded with an “I told you so” from Chuck, I pulled onto Route 70 and just kept driving east.
The snow lightened as we reached Kansas. I had been at the wheel for a day and a half without stopping. After another 8 hours we reached Missouri where I saw snow-capped mountains on the southern side of the highway. I knew they weren’t really there but I told myself that it was okay and I was only hallucinating. That thought didn’t seem to scare me at the time. Finally, we reached my mother-in-law’s house in Kansas City where we stopped for the night. I wasn’t thrilled about visiting her but the kids needed a hot meal and I needed sleep.
My mother in law, however, made sleep pretty impossible with wanting to scold me on how worried everyone had been and how I hadn’t checked in and Chuck was frantic, blah, blah, blah. After she finished lecturing she switched the conversation to the kids and her son so I just sat and tried to make polite and hopefully intelligent conversation. When I did get to bed it was very late and since I wanted to leave early I got only six hours of sleep. The final leg of our journey was an uneventful ten hour drive which ended at my parent’s home in time for visiting hours at the hospital.
I told no one about seeing snow capped mountains in Missouri or the lack of money for the trip for a long, long time. I needed to be with my aunt and she was so happy to see us that the entire experience was well worth the nail biting trip.
There was yet another bright spot to this journey. Coming across Route 40 in a blizzard had been a total “white” experience but the return trip a few weeks later was quite the opposite. I never again took Route 70 or 80 west of Denver. Instead we took the road less traveled and enjoyed the breathtaking beauty of rural Colorado.