White outs, white knuckles, and beauty

I recently returned to the west coast from Minnesota, visiting family and friends, which was wonderful as usual. In my original attempt to get to Minnesota, I was held up in Portland because the sky decided to release unheard of amounts of snow in Portland. About 14 inches in one day. This never happens in Portland, we get that kind of snow, and then some, in the mountains, but not "in the valley" as they say.

Portland was paralyzed.
Major highways were closed.
People were snowed into their homes.
Chains on tires were a common site (which is still weird to me, a native Minnesotan.)
And the airport shut down. All flights in and out were canceled on the 21st, the day I was to fly to Minneapolis. So, I rescheduled for Christmas day, the earliest flight I could get, and made the most of a snowy Portland. It ended up being just peachy.

In any case, I made it out, and back on the 3rd of January after a great time at home. Upon my return, all of the snow had melted from the "Arctic Freeze" as the news had so annoyingly called it. I had a day to unpack, repack, and check a map to find out where exactly on the coast I was to be heading the following day.

I had a house rented in a little town called Nehalem, smooshed between Wheeler and Manzanita, on the Oregon Coast. So, I began packing, and mapping, and towards the time of my departure, I looked out the window and noticed it had begun to snow, hard.

"Crap." I thought.

I had to leave that Sunday night, because I started my next rotation the following morning at 6 AM. And it wouldn't be too bad, I am a Minnesota native, I'm used to driving in snow, and I have a large, heavy, surprisingly reliable car in the snow; Betty, a 1989 Cadillac DeVille. She's cool.

But, I knew that if in the Valley it was already puking snow, it was going to get pretty bad driving through the coastal range to get to the Pacific Ocean, my new home for 3 months.

I tried not to think about it. But as I hit the road, Highway 26 was already white, and bore little resemblance to a road just outside of town. At least this 'road' is straight, and free from fallen rocks, and dizzying cliffs only feet away from the tires of my car. Though, that was precisely where I was headed.

My knuckles were already white with anticipation; white with a kung-fu grip on Betty's wheel.

"Sorry Betty, I don't mean to choke you, but this road suuuuuuuuuuuucks, and it's going to get worse."

I press on. At each exit, scores of cars decide better of their coastal pursuit, and peel off to separate gas stations, and rest stops to plan their next move, a smarter move than continuing on... as it would only get much worse.

I wasn't that smart, or maybe I was brave... well, not brave, but too proud.

"I'm from Minnesota, I'm used to driving in this kind of weather."

"Well, Mr. Pride, that's sort of true" my good sense thought, "but in Minnesota they salt, sand and plow the streets, AND they don't have mountains like the ones to which you must cut through tonight."

"Pish-Posh! I'm doin' it!" says my pride.

I press on through the black of the night, which is starkly contrasted by the thick white waves of snow that pelt my windshield, and the growing blanket that seems to cover everything around me. I begin to approach the mountains; the road winds, narrows and climbs as it presses on through the coastal range.

Even in perfect weather conditions, much of "The Sunset Highway" needs to be driven carefully, and slowly, as its course winds through the path of least resistance which was cut through the land years ago. And even in these perfect weather conditions, at times, it feels like you are not even on a road at all. It feels like you are floating through the forest, a forest of ancient, towering pines who stand triumphantly, but reassuringly. They make you want to stop your car. They make you want to get out, and just be there among them.

Tonight, it's even more beautiful, the bows of these giant pines are bending under the weight of about a foot of fresh snow. They all seem to point point directly at me as I pass, very slowly by. This white blanket seems to blur the lines between the road and the forest even more than usual. I can see no road; only white. I feel like I'm on a path through the woods, to somewhere with promise, somewhere where there is a good friend, a warm embrace, a crackling fire.... something wonderful. In this moment, it's perfect... I can't seem to recall anything more beautiful.

For this beauty, there is however, a beast.

I am more white-knuckled than ever. I have much faith in Betty, but she's never been tested like this. For that matter, neither have I. The softness of the snow, and fresh powder which characterized the pass and the majority of the mountains was easy enough to navigate, but as I begin my decent down the west side of the range, and nearer the Ocean... the temperature begins to rise. The large puffs of snow that seemed to resemble floating cotton balls begin to transform. The relative peace, and tranquility- the silence of my journey... in actuality, and in my mind- begin to change. The tires that had been soft, and silenced by the fresh, airy snow, now became noticeable. The windshield wipers spring into action, to clear the now freezing, sleet like rainy-snowy mix from my view. The road feels as if it is coated with KY jelly. Betty morphed from a staunch, Minnesotan... a TRUE viking, conquering the terrain presented to her, into a drunk 19 year old, high-heeled wearing co-ed, walking down a slippery frozen campus sidewalk just after an ice storm.

Betty was skating down the pass, and she wasn't alone. Other cars, and their occupants, were turned into fearful 2000 pound curling stones without a proper broom to guide their path.

We made it through this hybrid storm, Betty and I.... the worst was over, after some downhill fish-tailing, and fear of pulling some unintended 360's. The road began appearing through the white that covered it. And this is when the wind began.

Once the snow had disappeared, and completely transformed into rain, the coast was in site. The bent sideways trees and bushes along the cliffs next to me were testament to the fact that this day's strong winds were not anything unusual. These trees had grown up with such staggering wind, that the position in which they were currently resting, was not due to a current gust, but were a result of years of constant battering from the wind and rain. They don't even seem to move anymore with the powerful blast of air, but Betty does.

WHOOOOSH! Betty is pushed quickly to the left, and she isn't a small drink of water.

WHOOOOSH again, and a slap of water, like a wave, hits me on the right, as if the ocean had a fire hose aimed at me while I flickered through the trees as I drove down the coastline.

The water wasn't a constant pour, it came in waves, just as if I was actually driving along side the breakers on the beach. And I kept waiting for Betty to take flight, albeit a quick one... one that ended in betty on her back, and me fairly unhappy.

It is beautiful. It is scary. I am alive. I am lucky to be here, to be right where I am.

This is perfect.

I made it through the blizzard, through the mountains, and finally, through the tsunami, to my new beach-side home. I finally ease my grip on Betty's wheel. The feeling returns to my hands... and I embark on my next journey; day one of Family Practice.

I'm the new guy again. I guess, after all, I am Newguy.

cn