Until recently, The Spouse and I were so lacking in resources (read: money, energy, sanity) and so abundantly blessed with abundantly troublesome kids with abundant misdirected energy that going anywhere was pretty much beyond our means. However, we did get one or two little vacations back in what I think of as “the dark days”. In each case we would start to thinking how we really needed a break and wouldn’t it be lovely “if”? We would plan it all out, see how much money it would cost, then throw the whole thing up in the air and set it on fire. Meanwhile, some guardian angel would write it down in the book of heaven and viola!--the exact amount of money needed would magically appear and all other obstacles would be made smooth. Clearly (at least it was clear to us), each of these trips was sanctioned by the Almighty.

Then one January day we decided we would give the Middle Child the birthday wish of her heart--snow-boarding lessons. Since a six hour round trip to the nearest snowfall and back was out of the question (our then 16 year old Big Guy, with his propensity for barfing, laughing maniacally and talking non-stop at 100 decibels, was in danger of being tossed onto the road an hour into any car trip) we decided to stay the three day weekend in a lovely establishment highly recommended by a sister who said--and I quote--“It is so fun to sit there by the cozy fire and watch the skiers outside while you sip hot chocolate.”

I pictured the Big Guy upstairs in our room with cable and chow (it had worked in the past), the Little Guy playing happily with toys and books at my feet whilst I sipped said chocolate, The Spouse and the Middle Child enjoying a snow-boarding lesson somewhere within shouting distance. So, we packed the car and left around noon, smug in our cleverness at leaving after the morning rush of traffic one generally encounters going up to the snow on a Saturday morning.

True, we had to sit at the toll bridge for nearly an hour before we got through, but I still had no presentiment of disaster until we stopped at some gas station/restaurant/gift shop two hours later to use the facilities only to find that the wait for the ladies room was 45 minutes. (The wait for the men’s room was five. That’s a subject for another post, one better written, no doubt, by Shelle). So, okay, we were only an hour and forty-five minutes behind schedule. Good thing the snowboarding lesson was for Monday morning! We still had plenty of time to get to the lovely recommended establishment and play in the snow before going out to eat our nice warm dinner.

When we hit the snow, we avoided putting on our chains for as long as possible. We laughed, a bit snidely, at the folk who were pulling over at the first hint of a flake, especially the woman with the Tahoe license plates. Surely she knew how to drive in this little bit of snow! When we could avoid it no longer, we, along with everyone but the smart lady from Tahoe, pulled into a rest stop to put on the newly acquired chains, the ones The Spouse vehemently assured me he could put on himself and, despite 1,000 attempts, could not. That was when it hit me—this trip had not been sanctioned the way so many others had been. No planning it out to the penny, no throwing it up in the air, no guardian angel, no money falling from the sky . . . we wanted to go, so we went. We were doomed.

After forever in the freezing snow and forking out $10 for someone (conveniently lying in wait for rubes like us) to put on our chains, we were finally again on our way. So, we were another 45 minutes behind but we were still doing good. We pulled up behind the other cars waiting to turn off onto the road to Tahoe and waited. And waited and waited and waited. We waited for an hour before The Spouse turned off the key in the ignition, got out and went to speak with the police officers we spotted up ahead. We were told not one, but two big-rigs had jack-knifed on the road ahead and we should turn around and go home.

Go home?!?! There was no way we were going to go home! This was no day trip! We had reservations at a very nice establishment and a whole weekend planned. We made a quick call to the hotel and let them know we would be late. They said, no problem, as long as you are here by ten, it’ll be fine. (It seems all the employees went home at ten. We thought this strange but no matter—we would be there in plenty of time!)

We had “planned” to be in Tahoe by three P.M. It was now nearly five and we were driving at about two miles per hour. We wondered how an accident, even two accidents, could possibly take so long to clear up. It became dark and then darker, the kids were starving (but barf-free) and we had no idea how much longer it would take us to get to our destination. Finally, after three hours of this, The Spouse had had enough and decided he was going to pull around the clump of cars to see what in the world was holding us up. That was when we realized we had been caught behind a pack of knock-kneed California drivers crouching in the beam of light from a giant snowplow.

Once I got The Spouse calmed down and driving was once again safe, we drove the last few miles to the hotel with humiliating ease and speed (on the way home, we learned that the $10 chain-fiasco rest stop was a mere 15 minute drive from the turn off to our hotel). We made it to our destination two hours shy of our ten o’clock deadline and boy were we cold, tired and hungry! We couldn’t wait to unload the car and run down to the hotel restaurant and have something hot to eat and drink. Little did we know our troubles had just begun.

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