I packed up my belongings, said my goodbyes, and heated up my car: I was departing Denver. Route 70, which I followed to reach Denver, was experiencing snow storms within the Rocky Mountains. Accordingly, I ditched that route in favor of Route 80, which runs upward past Fort Collins, breaking the Wyoming boarder, and then meanders through the lower half of that state, crossing into Utah. My original plan was to endure an 8-hour journey—half way to Lake Tahoe—and settle in Salt Lake City for the night.
Well, I trekked upward, crossed the border, and veered off onto Route 70. I was about two and half hours into the trip, when up ahead tractor-trailers were pulling off onto the exit ramp. The highway was guarded off, prohibiting any further progression. With that, I, as well, pointed the nose of my car towards the exit ramp. For the next twenty minutes, I circled around the area, redirecting myself to navigate around the highway. No dice. I was stuck.
Therefore, I looped back towards the rest stop a quarter mile down from Route 70. The parking lot was flooded with tractor-trailers and cars. I entered the mini-mart, hopeful to get to the bottom of this conundrum.
“Hey, what’s going on with Route 80?” I asked an employee who passed by towards the counter.
“Car accident. Everything is shut down, because of the snow.” She explained.
“I need to get to San Francisco,” I pleaded.
“Sorry, but the highway may be closed for a while. There’s hotels nearby.” She offered.
With that, I sunk for a few minutes, contemplating my options. I searched on my phone for traffic reports, and eventually, I rang a call to the local police station. No conclusions were reached, except the road would be down for an undetermined period. Therefore, I could either wait it out and hope for the best, or, ramble back to Denver. The grey clouds were layering above, the sky was looking ominous, forecasting snowfall. Therefore, I hopped on Route 70 East. I would be back to Denver soon enough, I thought.