Mushing Across Wyoming

In Evanston, Wyoming, my eighth-grade choir members and I decided to line up in our hallway in anticipation of Christmas break. As students spill into the hallway, their holiday excitement is palpable, with laughter echoing off the walls like festive carols. While I stand at the threshold of the short hallway, I can't help but smile at the eager young faces bursting with energy, their colorful winter attire a vibrant contrast to the stark, wintry landscape outside. But as the last bell tolls, the hallway transforms into a whirlwind of holiday cheer, with students racing past me, their voices blending into a cacophony of joy and effervescence. In that moment, I'm swept up in the rushing tide of youthful exuberance, momentarily forgetting my own role as a guide and simply reveling in the magic of their unrestrained celebration. After the final student fled the hall, I quickly made my way back to the music office for a brief farewell to David before hurrying home to Ericka, where we could hop in the pickup and head to South Dakota for our holiday festivities.

As a wintery mix began to cascade from the steel-gray sky, Ericka and I hastily loaded the last of our gear into the camper bed of our magenta Chevy, ensuring that our trusty dog, Sampson, had a cozy corner secured with his favorite blanket and toys. The anticipation of seeing our families for Christmas filled the air with excitement as I quickly changed into my warmest layers, zipping up my jacket while nervously watching the sleet coat the streets outside our townhome. With our hearts racing and Sampson’s tail wagging eagerly, we jumped into the truck, the warmth of the heater immediately enveloping us like a comforting embrace. The faint sound of Christmas music played softly on the radio, blending perfectly with the patter of the ice against the windshield as we set off down the winding city streets. At the edge of Evanston, we pulled onto Interstate 80 and closer to the quiet wonder of snow-covered landscapes.

Approximately thirty minutes into our journey, we approached the Three Sisters, a region infamous for its steep slopes and erratic weather conditions. Our four-wheel drive vehicle ascended and descended the initial two colossal hills as I anxiously gripped the armrest of the passenger door. Upon reaching the peak of the final hill, Ericka tightened her hold on the steering wheel, her knuckles gleaming white as a sudden rush of frigid wind slammed against the pickup accompanied by ice pelting the windshield. As we started our descent, the tires struggled for a grip on the slick road. My heart raced as I braced myself, feeling the car begin to slide toward two immobilized vehicles in the distance, where their drivers appeared visibly anxious and trapped in fear. While Ericka wrestled for control, expertly maneuvering the wheel in a frantic effort to avoid disaster, the snowy scenery outside streaked by in a wild blur of white. A tense silence enveloped us as we collectively held our breath, aware of the looming threat. As our vehicle glided dangerously close to the stationary cars, time seemed to elongate until Ericka, reacting instinctively, counter-steered in a bid to recover control while navigating the snow-covered slope. With a combative blend of concentration and trepidation, she urged our tires to find traction on the wet surface, praying to maneuver past the ominous vehicles ahead, fully realizing that each moment was crucial in our endeavor for safety.

A gasp escaped my lips as our truck skidded dangerously between the two stationary vehicles, their tires helplessly stuck a few feet apart, creating a narrow corridor of anxiety. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires was muted by the profound silence in the cab, interrupted only by the pounding rhythm of my heart as my hands clenched the dashboard. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a semi-truck looming behind us, its enormous size casting an ominous shadow amid the winter turmoil. With an uncontrollable burst of speed, we shot ahead, the tires struggling for traction as we shot between the immobilized cars. The feeling of slipping and briefly losing control clashed with the exhilaration of narrowly avoiding both obstacles. I stole a glance at my side mirror, witnessing a second miracle; the semi also navigated through the stranded vehicles while managing to decelerate just in time to avoid crashing into us. Remarkably, everyone emerged unscathed from what could have been a catastrophic accident.

After our narrow escape from disaster, we erupted in nervous laughter. Each chuckle felt both liberating and frightening, a coping mechanism for the adrenaline surging through our veins. “I can’t believe we made it,” I gasped between fits of giggles, wiping away tears born from both fear and hilarity. We continued chatting and laughing as Ericka carefully maneuvered the patches of ice on the desolate stretch of interstate. Eventually, a shimmering blanket of ice began to form on our windshield. Ericka, focused and determined behind the wheel, adjusted the defroster to high, trying to keep the ice from obscuring her vision. As the hot air blew into my face, I could feel the fatigue settling in, heavy on my eyelids, like the very ice that coated the exterior. The rhythmic hum of the tires against the slick road soon lulled me into a comforting stupor as I fought to stay alert and provide companionship during our long journey. It was a delicate dance of mutual reliance; while Ericka concentrated on the road, I struggled against the drowsiness that threatened to pull me under. Despite the biting cold outside, the warmth of the cab pulled me under, and I fell into a deep sleep.

As the fierce ice storm raged outside, Ericka skillfully maneuvered our pickup into the small, unassuming town of Wheatland, a welcome refuge from the treacherous road conditions. The crisp wind howled around us as the vehicle came to a halt in the Super 8 parking lot, and Ericka shook me from a fitful sleep. Groggy but relieved, I blinked at the frost-kissed landscape, barely recognizing the scene through the icy blur. With a sense of urgency tempered by gratitude, we dropped the tailgate to let our eager dog, Sampson, leap into the snowy embrace of the winter wilderness. His excitement was infectious as he bounded into the drifts, nose digging into the powdery terrain. I shivered at the end of his leash as Ericka hurried into the stark hotel lobby to find us a room. After what seemed like hours, the three of us piled into a chilly room to safely rest amidst the swirling storm.

With my teeth chattering, I turned up the heat, eagerly attempting to create a sanctuary of warmth and comfort. Soon, Ericka and I snuggled beneath rough blankets and closed our eyes in anticipation of sleep, but our border collie, Sampson, seemed less than ready to settle down. With each creak of the wind rattling the room door or distant hum of laughter from the adjacent room, he would lift his head, his ears perked up like satellite dishes, to woof at the world outside our snug haven. It’s as if he’d taken on the role of vigilant guardian, woofing softly at every rustle—the bed creaking, perhaps, or the distant rumble of a car motor. As the clock ticked past midnight, his woofs continued to echo like a relentless alarm, sending ripples of anxious energy through the quiet confines. We tried everything—gentle petting, an assortment of treats ranging from savory bacon bits to his favorite crunchy biscuits, banishing him to the bathroom tub—hoping he would fall asleep. However, his protective spirit continually emerged, his bark growing louder and more enthusiastic as the night dragged onward. The unfamiliar surroundings seemed to ignite a primal urge in him to alert us to every creak and whisper, making us squirm in our beds, desperately wishing for silence. While his woofs were filled with enthusiasm and love, they felt like a cacophony of misery in the cramped hotel room.

As the early morning sun streamed through the hotel window, illuminating the room with a warm golden glow, we climbed out of bed feeling the exhaustion deep in our bones. We hurriedly packed our limited belongings, while glaring at Sampson whose tail was wagging in delight as he eagerly awaited our next adventure, knowing instinctively that a journey was ahead. Soon we stepped into the crisp winter air, the world outside glistening with a fresh layer of frost. Ericka gently tucked our over-protective companion into the back of our trusty truck, ensuring he was cozy and secure, with his favorite blanket wrapped around him. With a final glance back at the hotel, I climbed into the cab and turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life as we continued our trek home for Christmas.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I felt a renewed sense of gratitude wash over me. The peril of the night before faded into memory, replaced by the warmth of the sun and the excitement of reconnecting with the season and our loved ones. The highway stretched out before us, shimmering in winter's embrace, and with each mile, the weight of our ordeal began to lift. With a chuckle, Ericka playfully nudged my arm and told me I looked beautiful, which I knew was complete malarky. We listened to Christmas carols and stared through sunglasses at the frost covered world transforming the fields on either side of the interstate.

Just as we rounded a bend, a billboard boldly advertised a homestyle café up ahead. Ericka turned to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “How about we make a pit stop and grab some breakfast and hot coffee? We deserve a little treat after last night,” she proposed, the prospect of a cozy drink sounding too good to resist.

Moments later, we stepped into a charming roadside café, the aroma of baked goods wafting through the air. Shaking off the remnants of the cold, we were immediately greeted by the friendly smiles of truckers and locals alike sitting in booths as they enjoyed a variety of freshly cooked meals. Soon we were seated in our own booth, warming our hands around steaming mugs of coffee as we savored large bights of flapjacks. The world outside felt miles away. My exhaustion evaporated as we shared stories of past Christmases, laughter, and a sense of newfound adventure.

With freshly filled to-go cups, we headed back to the truck— quickly checking on Sampson curled up on his blanket before reclaiming our seats in the cab. As we drove away, I couldn’t help but glance in the rearview mirror at the picturesque café receding into the distance, a reminder of the unexpected detours that make life sweet. Enveloped in the festive atmosphere, the scenery became a picturesque backdrop for the anticipation of upcoming family gatherings. Despite our relatively new relationship, we shared a profound connection—a tie grown stronger through this shared journey, strong enough to endure any future challenges both personal and external. The path before us called out, and we stood prepared to face whatever lay ahead, together.