Though I didn’t mean for this to be a weather crossover thread, while we’re on it…
Another thing that areas with only occasional snowfall don’t have is a population of people in jacked up, off road tired, winch front, Chevy pickup trucks who go around during storms just recreationally rescuing people. After living out here several years, and getting pulled out in two different scenarios by such Samaritans, I look at jacked up trucks in a different light now.
I was one of those idiots heading down 80 eastbound over the sierras in the big storm before Christmas. When unprepared people spinning out in the passes closed 80 down google found a shortcut around the mess. I was stupid enough to follow it.
The road it took us down hadn’t been plowed but it didn’t look bad (at first). I often drive over worse in my “Trailhawk” Jeep that I bought specifically to deal with snow. And surely other vehicles have recently navigated this path successfully, right google?
The “road” narrowed and got slicker as some rain fell on top of the snow. The name of the road changed to “PG&E Road”. This gave me some idea of how fucked I now was. I’m on a poorly, if at all, graded and unpaved service road in the mountains. It’s too narrow to do a 14 point turn and turn around. Plus I can’t even risk that in the snow/slush/ice surface. I’m pretty sure if I stop I’m going to be stuck.
At one point there’s an ambiguous fork. I choose wrong. It just a cut uphill that goes up to a closed gate to a reservoir. Fortunately there’s a cut back to the road so I don’t have stop to turn around. I head down it.
Unfortunately the cut back down to the road had a bit of a iced over drainage made by rain and meltwater that grabbed a tire and slid me into the small ditch along the side of the road. It was not much more than a foot deep, but enough that my underbelly was on the packed snow of the road. With two tires in a slushy ditch I was going nowhere.
After a very brief panic attack and numerous apologies to the wife for our potential wintery demise given the feet of snow forecasted to fall on us, I assessed our supplies. I foolishly hadn’t put the full winter kit in the car (fold up shovel, sandbag, snatch strap). Fortunately, for my regret levels at least, none of it would have really helped. I did have Mylar blankets, water and some food in the form of granola bars I keep in the car for emergencies and post-hike hunger, and pastries from the amazing bakery near my mother in law’s house in San Francisco (the reason I was driving home in a blizzard instead of before was the prior night was her birthday).
Also in our favor was that we had cell signal. As I assessed our supplies, and realizing I was shovel-less found a sturdy branch to futility dig with, my wife called AAA. To their credit they didn’t laugh. They said at best it’d be two hours. They later cancelled as there was no way to get to us. But we didn’t get the call as fortunately…
Not long after I abandoned my branch digging efforts I heard rumbling. A sort of revving sound accompanied by a slushy scraping. It was not long after the hero of the day appeared. An old orange jacked up Chevy pickup with round knobby tires (didn’t even need chains) comes uphill towards up flinging snow behind.
I wave at them and make hallelujah to the sky as the three gentlemen pile out. The driver has on reflective orange work pants with a camo hoodie and Daryll and his other brother Daryll are wearing camo onesies.
The driver greets me with “You look like you need a beer” and proffers a tall boy of Coors. I politely decline. I have no idea how many more hours I have of driving at this point and, well, Coors.
My trailhawk has hooks on the bumpers specifically for being a haulee or hauler so we hook up the winch and start unstucking. Since this was on a downward slope with a right tilt (into the ditch) it took some work. He had to get uphill behind us and block off on a tree to pull us diagonally out of the ditch.
They told me I was less than half a mile from pavement and it should be easy going from here. In gratitude I gave the gentlemen my Arizmendi’s pastries. Given that I kind of look like Greg Allman in transitions glasses one made a hopeful joke about the contents of the cookie. I reassured/disappointed him. Coors told me to give Daryll(1) the cookie because he’s the one who suggested they hit the snowy service road for fun. (I asked but forgot their actual names because I’m terrible with names. The Larry, Daryll and Daryll joke is not meant to disrespect.)
We made it back to 80 to learn eastbound was totally closed off. Had to drive all the way back to 50 to south lake and on to Reno. 50 was packed snow. So many idiots holding things up ignoring all the other cars putting on chains until they got up to the checkpoint. I think it took another five hours. Glad I didn’t have that Coors. Still, total respect for dudes in jacked up trucks that really use them.
Later my wife found there’s a Facebook group to get together people who need their sorry asses pulled out of a snowy ditch with people who love to pull others out of snow ditches for fun (or money).
