My original plan was to remain at the coast until late afternoon Christmas day. I figured this would give me ample time to get in some more shooting and still make it back to Portland early enough to get unpacked, have some dinner and get a good night's sleep.
The weather report, though, compelled me to alter those plans. It was raining at the coast. When it's raining in the lower elevations, it's a fair bet that, in winter, it's snowing in the mountains. There were mountains between Garibaldi and Portland, so this was a particular concern. As I've covered previously, I own neither chains or "traction tires". Accordingly, driving in the snow can only be, at best, challenging. So, I decided it would be best to head back to Portland early, hopefully missing what was sure to be a blizzard in the mountains.
I finished breakfast at Kelly's Place, and pulled out of the parking lot at 10:45am. The rain was relentless, so I decided I wasn't going to push my pace. I had all day to get back to Portland, and all that really mattered is that I got back there safely.
As I made my way back towards the mountains, I was reminded of the fact that this trip just wasn't long enough. I wanted to see more. I wanted to do more. I wanted to visit that Mecca of cheese, the Tillamook Cheese factory:
 |
| Mmmmmmmmm... Cheddar... |
I'd spent one day heading north, and there just wasn't an opportunity to spend time exploring to the south. I guess I'll just have to wait until my next trip out here to experience the grandeur of a nice, sharp Tillamook cheddar.
There are also a myriad of places to shoot the rivers and creeks along the highway, all of which offer pretty dramatic views of a number of different waterways. I would imagine that, once the snows start to melt, that these rivers start raging:
 |
| One of the countless rivers along the pass... |
It wasn't long before I found myself heading into the mountains, and those dreaded signs; the ones about traction tires and snow chains, which remind me that, as much as I might believe the contrary, I'm just not prepared for this. I would be fine, I concluded, and I was.
For about a half hour.
I remember being acutely aware of the fact that I wasn't going to rush this trip. This road was dangerous in these conditions. This picture shows the road as it was; semi-snow covered, but pretty much empty:
 |
| Heed the warnings... |
About a minute after I took that picture, the strangest thing happened. I felt the rear wheels slip, ever so slightly, so I took my foot off the gas. I guess it was a tad too late, though, because the back of the truck continued around to the left until the truck was perpendicular to the travel lanes.
And I was doing 40 mph at the time.
This was, I surmised, bad. Sooner or later, the truck would stop. I just didn't know how badly it would hurt when it did. I couldn't even bail out of the truck, because the driver's side was leading the way down the road; I'd have been run over if I jumped. I decided that, if it really came down to it, I could pull a Bruce Willis move, crawl out the driver's side window and across the roof of the truck and bail out on the passenger side. That would look cool, of course, but there would be no way of getting it on film, and my truck would still be wrecked somewhere down the road.
No, this was the proverbial rock on one side and the hard place on the other. I was going to be in this truck when it wrecked, and it was gonna' suck.
I remember having, really, only two thoughts, and I remember having those two thoughts almost simultaneously.
First, seeing as I was sliding down the snow-covered highway sideways, I realized how fortunate I was that this was Christmas day and, as you might expect, there was no one else on the road. It was unlikely I would hit anyone on the way to wherever it was my truck was going to crash.
I also realized, again, almost simultaneously, how unfortunate I was that this was Christmas day and, as you might expect, there was no one else on the road. When the truck wrecked (and, mind you, it was going to wreck), there would be no help coming along anytime soon. I'd be down in some snow covered ravine somewhere in the wilds of Oregon. I had a blanket, a little bit of water, a granola bar and clean, dry clothes, but I really doubt those would've carried me through to the Spring. Also, there was nothing that even mildly resembled a cell signal on the mountain. My cell phone was useless.
All of those thoughts raced through my head as I continued down the highway, watching the majestic snow-covered pines whisk by the hood of the Explorer. We'd had happier times, this Explorer and me. And it was all about to end.
I'm not entirely sure what caused it, but I like to think the fact I'd turned into the slide helped. All of a sudden, the back of the truck began to slide to the right, back to where it needed to be. Once it was pointed down the road, it stopped sliding.
I managed to pull over into a snow-laden turnout. I wasn't really concerned with whether or not my non-chain-wearin', non-traction tire havin' truck would get out of that turnout. All I knew is that I wanted the truck stopped, and I wanted to get out of it. Now, I haven't had a cigarette in almost a year but, to be totally honest, if there had been some in the truck that day, I'd have fired one up to calm my nerves. I hadn't been that scared in a long time, and I needed to decompress a little.
I got back into the driver's seat and left the turnout without so much as a single tire spin. I was pulling into my driveway about an hour later, thankful that the trip got about as eventful as it need to be to remind me that I need to learn new rules up here, because this wilderness, while beautiful, can also be treacherous and threatening.
I never want to do that again...
