A Trek Across The Rocky Mountains

The destination was Chicago/Evanston, Illinois, it was May 1975.  Some old friends were there and had convinced me that in Chicago the music had, "not died" and that I should come on out to their city filled with possibilities.

I packed everything that a wandering musician, poet, seeker of truth would need for a cross-country trip into my VW Bug with the California license plate frame that said: "Hollywood" Bob Smith Volkswagen.

The possibilities are endless when you're young, healthy and excited about a new adventure!  I knew that a new world awaited me in that far away city!  Never mind that I had barely enough money to get there and barely enough sense to know this was an absurd  idea.  Never mind the "cons" all I could think about were the "pros."  Indeed, in Hollywood the music had died for me and I knew that I had to find some way to bring it back to life for myself.

For someone as low on funds as I was to have an Automobile Club Card was a curiosity in itself.  But, sometimes I could be practical and I used my card to get free maps and a "Specially" designed route for my trip.

It's amazing to me, now, how well I remember that visit to the Auto Club.   I can still see the young lady that helped me at the Hollywood Branch. She pulled out the large map and her amazing, yellow highlighting pen. (this was before they were a common item to us all).  We both leaned on the high counter and pondered the maze of lines and discussed my route.

I explained that I would be going through 29 Palms to visit my folks, then through Sedona, Arizona  to see some friends and on to Denver to sing for a week at a Folk Club there.  After Denver I would be going on to Chicago. She highlighted the highways through the first two destinations and then we discussed the shortest route to Denver, which she also highlighted.

A few days later I packed these handy maps into my trusty car and hit the trail.

Mom and Pops were there in 29 Palms and filled me with hugs and kisses and when I left they filled my car with apricots that I had to throw out when I got to the Arizona State line.  Jeanie and Jerry were there in Sedona and also an unexpected old friend from San Diego, Earl Taylor.

A few days later I left Sedona and headed North.

Many hours later that day, as I approached 11,000 feet above sea level, a startling discovery began to take place;  I realized that this "shortest route to Denver" was in reality ...

"A Trek Across The Rocky Mountains"!!!

About 4 o'clock that afternoon a snow storm set in; It started out friendly enough, but as I climbed higher and higher above "sea level" I could see less and less of the road in front of me.  My windshield wipers had worked fine in California rain, but they were not ready for a Rocky Mountain snow storm.   Within a matter of minutes the windshield was entirely covered with ice except for one  small inch that followed the struggling wipers across the window on the passenger side of the car!

So, that's how I drove; sitting on the middle hump between the seats, peering out the tiny clearing in the passenger window, barely clinging to the steering wheel from the passenger side, with my left foot barely touching the gas pedal.

I do not know how long I drove that way, not even seeing the edge of the road or the surrounding  mountains,  but I do remember what elation I felt when I saw that glorious sight slowly emerging out of the white wind, a sign that glowed, "MOTEL"!.

I had planned to continue on to Denver that day but there was no way you could get me back on that highway; Even I was smart enough to know  what I had just been through and what could have happened.

The motel owner explained to me that to drive at that high of an altitude you are supposed to have your carburetor re-adjusted.  She exclaimed, it was a wonder my car had not stalled on me! Well!  I didn't want to think about that too long--car stalled, no visibility, freezing temperatures, EEK!  I could hear the newscaster now;  "Young woman crashes in the Rockies, News at 11:00"!  Boy, I sure slept good that night.

When I opened the motel-room door the next morning, it was so beautiful I could hear the Hallelujah Chorus!  As I packed up my car I felt an even greater sense of gratitude for all my good fortune.

I headed on down the road to Denver and reached my destination that night with a bad cold in my nose and another good tale tucked underneath my guitar strap.