Slowly my car veered off the side of the off-ramp, my hands clutching the wheel, trying hard to regain control.
Fear enveloped me. I had little experience driving in snow. I pulled back onto the road, drove under Interstate 5 and headed south back down the Siskiyou Mountains. My return to Eugene and the University had to wait.
The drive from my hometown of Camarillo in Southern California is typically an easy, two-day affair. Originally, the plan was leave Wednesday and arrive Thursday afternoon in time for the Oregon women’s basketball game Thursday night against Arizona State.
Powerful storms ravaging Northern California dictated otherwise.
I drove back to Redding and stopped at a cheap hotel for the night. I figured I’d wait out the storm and give it another try the next day. With the winds worse and rain slapping the hotel the next morning, I watched as other travelers driving much bigger vehicles than my minuscule ’96 Honda Civic decided to try again.
Opting for safety, I drove back to my aunt’s in Rancho Cordova, outside Sacramento, rather than give the Siskiyous another try. The first attempt, still vivid in my mind, was enough. Initially, the drive had been smooth, but as I approached the summit, the snow steadily increased, reducing traffic to a crawl.
Truckers pulled off and put on chains. The cramped side of the road left me inching forward until traffic stopped. Each time I pressed the gas pedal, the tires struggled to grip the road, until the freeway closed and I had to turn back.
On the return drive to my aunt’s I stopped three times looking to refill my gas tank, but each time I found stations closed and without power. At one stop, a Wendy’s sign hung limp, the powerful wind bending it in half.
I ran into the brunt of Sacramento traffic with flooding on Interstate 50 making a six-mile stretch take close to an hour. When I finally reached Rancho Cordova, power outages had left certain street lights off. Instead of stopping and waiting their turn, numerous drivers continued through intersections, seemingly unaware of the danger. I made it back safely to my aunt’s house and left Saturday morning at 10 a.m.
Highway 101 along the coast offered a longer, but in my mind safer option, so I cut back on Highway 80W, then Highway 37W before hitting 101.
Besides being small, my Honda Civic is low to the ground, so every time a truck or even an SUV passes in the rain, I’m liable to see a wave splash across my windshield. With the rain pouring near the Bay Area, I inched forward on stretches of the one-lane 37 before finally reaching Novato, Calif., and 101.
Soon after, I broke into a stretch of sunlight and was able to enjoy some of the sights of 101. Wine country and the Redwoods all flew by as I made my way up 101 that changes between one and two lanes and often runs through small towns.
By mid-afternoon, I had arrived in Eureka, Calif., about halfway back to Eugene. I pushed forward, eager to end this miserable trip, and traveled into the night.
The biggest challenge, and a scary one, emerged with the stretch of freeway prior to Crescent City as rain and fog made it unnerving as 101 hugs the coast and peers out over the ocean. I continued into Oregon and eventually through Coos Bay and North Bend before arriving at my apartment at 11 p.m.
Never before had I felt such relief at arriving in Eugene. I had won the “Amazing Race,” except in this version, there were no prizes and no other teams, only Mother Nature as my biggest competitor.
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