During the winter of my junior year at the University of Idaho, harsh storms dumped a record amount of snow on northern Idaho. My parents sent me an airplane ticket to fly the 400-mile distance from Lewiston to Twin Falls to come home for Christmas, but I arrived in Lewiston and the airport was closed due to bad weather. I called Dad and he said to call back in thirty minutes. I called back and he said he had rerouted one of his 18-wheel trucks from Missoula, Montana to get me.
A few hours later, a snow-covered Montana Express truck arrived at the airport. I hopped in and expressed my gratitude, but the two drivers were not in a jolly mood. The diversion added 15 hours to their journey and the roads included the old Whitebird Hill, a switchblade, two-lane, dangerous route in a snowstorm at night in the middle of nowhere.
“This will be some adventure!” I said, trying to stay positive.
“We just drove through a blizzard on LoLo Pass,” said Dub Brownlee, a driver I had known for 15 years. “We could be home now, but we’ll get you home in about 12 hours.”
“I hope Dad rewards you,” I said.
“Oh, he will!” came a voice from the sleeper. I recognized the voice of Claude Odem, a long-time driver. Because I was a passenger, the second driver needed to stay in the sleeper.
We drove through the snowstorm and finally reached the treacherous Whitebird Hill. At an elevation of 4,400 feet, the snow was thick and blinding. The windshield wipers barely kept the top layer of snow off the windshield. There were no other drivers on the road. As the big rig inched along the switchblade turns, I could look out the window and occasionally see the edge of the road that disappeared over the sides into steep canyons. One slip of a back wheel, and we would be over the edge and not found until the spring thaw. Brownlee kept both hands on the wheel and leaned forward to keep the truck on the road. I didn’t dare tell him I had to go to the bathroom. I held that urge for another hour.
We approached the bottom of the grade as the wind blew the snow sideways across the windshield. My hands ached from holding onto the seat.
“I’m getting too tired,” moaned Brownlee. “If I fall asleep, just grab the wheel and ease onto the brake pedal.”
I looked at him, eyes wide and mind terrified. Then he winked. He enjoyed a good ten minutes of laughter after that joke. I couldn’t laugh because I would wet my pants.
We arrived in Wendell the next morning. Driving the journey in a car on dry roads took eight hours, but this journey was unique. My dad handed the drivers a thick envelope I assumed was full of cash. Over the years, Brownlee would remind me of his valiant sacrifice to get me home for Christmas. I replied that I enjoyed being his favorite cargo.
(This excerpt is from my memoir, “Frozen Dinners.”)
#amwriting, #trucking, #Idaho, #MontanaExpress, #memoir,
Loved this story (as I do all your memoirs). As a trucker for over 33 years, I know the anxiety of driving over Whiteboard in the winter.
Truck driving takes skill in any weather. You should write about it – or make a film.
The new road is for sissies… 😉
I held on to my office chair while reading this story. Having survived a few blizzards, my heart was in my throat until you arrived safely home.
Truck drivers carry a lot of important cargo, from soup, to toilet paper, to stranded college coeds!
Wow – this is a great memory and a perfect made for tv mini movie idea!
Thanks, Antionette. I agree!
I remember those trips from Wendell to Moscow in the winter. White Bird hill had some interesting experiences, but nothing that compared to yours.
Thanks for sharing
Dan
The story is interesting to read. Love it.
Love all your stories especially when I have experienced some of them myself
Thanks, Beverly. The stories will continue…
My Dad Larry Bills drove for your dad many years and I worked on the farms. When one of my little sisters had an accident that put her in the hospital
Mr and Mrs Ambrose took me and my other two sister in for a week and your dad immediately rerouted my dad home. I will never forget that was a very special part of my life. Mrs Ambrose was a very sweet lady.
Thank you so much for this comment. Both my parents have passed away, and I love hearing stories about them. Do you remember what year that was? I might have been there, too.
Hello Elaine,
My grandfather, worked for Montana Express in Sacramento for years under both Neal and George. I don’t know if you would have been familiar with him. His name was Norman Hisey.
Just yesterday, I saw an old MX trailer pass by on the highway through Kennewick, WA. It was shocking to see, as I understood the company has been closed for years. But the sight of it, and the fond memories it brought back, made me smile. I found your blog when I googled to see if the company had been restarted. I enjoyed reading your post.
Michelle
Thanks, Michelle, for the message. I do remember Norman. Unfortunately, both my dad and brother George died young. The trucking company was sold at auction. It was a sad way to end the business. I knew many of the drivers for several decades. I’m happy you saw the trailer. Those glimpses of the past are bittersweet.