Short Story: Road Closed

It seemed like a good idea at the time. “Let’s go to Tahoe for New Years Eve.” So we made reservations at a big hotel on the South Shore and on the appointed day prepared for the road, which we would tackle in our shiny, red VW.

In those days there were two main ways to Tahoe from the San Francisco Bay Area—Highway 40 (now Interstate 80) and two-lane Highway 50. We took 50 because it goes over the Sierra Crest and down to the South Shore. The weather was unsettled as we cruised eastward across the Golden State in late December. Soon we were starting to climb toward Echo Summit at 7,377’, and it was snowing steadily. Being young, we nonchalantly put on chains and drove on up the mountain. As we went, traffic was increasing; after all, it was New Years Eve and South Shore was known as the party center with casinos and a wide range of entertainment.

Gradually the line of cars became bumper to bumper and slower and slower, and then we all stopped completely. The snow kept falling. We sat, motor running and heater on. Then we sat some more. An hour passed with no progress, and we noticed, too, that there were no cars coming downhill in the other lane. Behind us as far as we could see was a line of cars, packed busses, and trucks—all stopped, stuck, heading up the mountain. The hardest part was probably the lack of information. What was going on?

Another hour passed and finally a California Highway Patrol car drove slowly by headed downhill. I flagged the officer to stop and asked about the situation. He said a landslide had closed the road, both lanes, near the summit and it was unlikely the road would be re-opened tonight. Then he drove on. I didn’t see him stop again.

Volkswagen to the rescue. Given our size, it was possible to make a U-turn. We did so immediately and pointed downhill from whence we had come. I had the lights on as it was getting dark. As we crept along in the ever-deepening snow, almost every driver we passed opened his or her window to hear news. Judy pushed our sunroof open and stood up so her head and shoulders were out. Then she began her chant: “Road closed. Can’t get through tonight. Road closed, can’t get through tonight.” We passed along what we knew to our fellow travelers but kept moving.

This went on for mile after mile. We finally reached snowless pavement and then Highway 49 where we turned north to get over to Highway 40. I don’t remember where we stayed that night, but the next day the storm had passed and we drove to the North Shore of Lake Tahoe. We’ve had home their ever since.

The Ski Patrol band of Squaw Valley immortalized the experience in a song, “Road Closed.” The song was one of a group of fun snow songs that was put out on a 33 1/3 record. I believe all the material is now on a CD, including “Short Skis Suck,” “Rocks,” “Unwanted Binding Release,” and “Mellow Daddy Skier.”