Peril!

The hazards of Mt. Rose can't be understated…in the winter. In the summer it's a idyllic Sierra highway; chorusing birds, exquisite flowers, and playful fawns mingle with the other woodland creatures. It looks much like this:

But less animated. You get the idea.

In the winter Mt. Rose looks like this:

That bright happy summer is killed by a blanket of snow, covered with a comforter of snow, which in turn is covered by another blanket. Mt. Rose becomes a winter wonderland death trap. The Venus flytrap of trails, Mt. Rose looks pleasant enough heading out of Reno, but at 9000 feet, it’ll bury you, quite literally.

Ok, enough gibber jabber…here’s what happened. I was in Reno with the family, gambling (suffering at the Roulette table), and grabbing dinner at the most mediocre of buffets (beware the Peppermill buffet). Because of an accident on 80, my dad suggested taking 395 south and cut west on the Mt. Rose pass to get back to north shore (Tahoe). I, an innocent lamb about to drive to the slaughter, agree. I agree under the assumption my Dad must be sane. The truth is, he’s crazy, because only crazy people send their children into weather suited for Eskimos, or hunters from the Klondike, not Sacramentians.

Well, off we went. The drive was pleasant; I even commented to my brother, “I don’t know why we don’t take 395 more often.” Now, I know why. At 8,000 feet, the pelting rain becomes heavy snow, swirling around us. With no one in front of me, no lights to guide me, I hunched over the steering wheel (picture an old woman cruising around Orlando), and took that highway at 20 mph. Crawling along allowed me to find the white line hiding beneath snow. I figured a 20 mph creep is better then losing median, and the result:




That visual helped? Excellent, because I have a few more that’ll help you understand the environment. Here’s what MT. Rose looks like without snow:

And this, should give you a good idea of what I was dealing with:

Oh, and it was pitch black:

I hope you can sympathize.

Challenging weather has a way of silencing everyone in the car. I occasionally broke the quiet with, “I need the defroster now,” and Stef, and excellent co-pilot would flip it on (I couldn’t take my eyes off the road for anything). We made it thru Little Antarctica after 30 minutes of driving. With the snow behind us, a smattering of rain was a pleasant sight.
Lesson learned…If 80’s closed, spend the night in Reno.