My Trip from Hell II--Driving to and From Cheyenne

I pulled onto I-84, just East of the Portland Airport, at 5:59 p.m. on Thursday, June 12. I was heading for Cheyenne, without map (of course, they give you a little one at the rental car agency, which is useful primarily for finding where to return your car), but I know the road system in the West fairly well, and I figured I would have no problem finding the quickest route. Actually, the first three hours of the trip were an unmatched pleasure. It was about 80 degrees as I headed into the Columbia Gorge. The sun behind me cast its brilliant rays on the high basalt cliffs of the Gorge, divided as they are by the beautiful and tranquil flow of the Columbia River. I thought that if 19th century American artist Thomas Cole, of the "Hudson River School," had ever known about the miles I was driving, he would have left NY behind and hied his way to Oregon. But he died only five years after the Oregon trail "officially" opened. The views were spectacular, with the sun illumining shadows and furrows deep in the majestic cliffs.

I needed those three hours of "grace," if you will, because once I reached Pendleton, OR (about 210 miles East of Portland), I knew I was in for a very long and dark night. The road turned Southeast as I began the trek over the Blue Mountains. Some snow was still on the side of the road as I passed Meacham, at the summit. I chomped almost meditatively on my footlong tuna sandwich purchased before the "Blues," and I managed to stretch out dinner for nearly 100 miles. Traffic was thinning as I reached Ontario, OR, about midnight (1:00 a.m. Mountain time), and when I pulled into Boise near the airport for gas at 1:40 a.m., I took a deep breath and realized I had only gone 420 miles. Just about 40% of the way.

Yet I felt strangely energized as I headed down the long and lonely (at that hour) I-84 in Idaho. I had to travel about 160 miles beyond Boise until I-84 turns South towards Ogden, UT. It was a cold night; I needed to turn on the car's heat. Fortunately, the next three states (ID, UT, WY) all had 75 mph speed limits. I observed those limits while speeding on towards my destination.

This leg of the trip, thankfully, was uneventful. When I took the southern turn off the highway at about 4:00 a.m, towards Ogden, I realized I was slightly more than 1/2 to my goal. I still, remarkably, felt fresh, though I think it was the "freshness" that you often feel about 20 minutes before you are irretrievably exhausted. Nevertheless, I pressed on, meeting fewer and fewer cars as I went. But then, unexpectedly for me, after only about six hours of darkness, I saw slight rays of light begin to emerge over the Eastern mountains. By the time I got to Ogden and refueled, the sun was up. I felt almost cheated for a moment. Here were people wiping the sleep out of their eyes to begin another day, and I still had 420 miles to go with no sleep for the previous 20 hours or so.

Hitting the Wall

Turning East at Ogden, still following I-84, wasn't easy. The sun began streaming in against me; construction narrowed the road to one lane for most of the way; the canyon route seemed interminably long. But eventually I emerged from it to join I-80, my destination route, near the Eastern border of Utah. The rock formations were stunning; I recall my son in 1993, six years old at the time, saying that some of the rock formations in Southern Utah looked like airplanes, with the little notches in the rock reminding him of airplane windows with passengers looking out. I tried to "see" those airplanes as I began to feel weariness overcoming me. but I was in no mood, really, to have warm thoughts about airplanes.

But still I pressed on. When I reached Wyoming, at about 5:45 a.m., I let out a sigh. Only 360 miles to go. But then reality "hit" me. I was hungry, cramped, utterly tired out, and coming down with a headache. I decided to fight all of it and press on, but when I came to Little America on Western WY and felt no surge of energy or even offense at their lame highway signs, I knew I was in trouble. So, at a rest stop East of Little America (about exit 60 or so), I pulled over, shut my eyes, and immediately fell asleep.

The dreams that course through your mind when you have been frenetically driving 13 hours are strange. Everyone seems to be moving or talking rapidly in the dreams; the pace of the dreams is amazingly fast. I must have had four distinct dream sequences before I awoke with a start after sleeping 45 minutes. I checked my "vital signs," so to speak, and felt like I could proceed. I was very hungry now, but I decided to press on.

Arriving in Cheyenne

I tried to play mental games with myself over the last 300 miles. I recalled our 1967 family trip, where we ate lunch in Rock Springs, after staying the night before in Rawlins. When I approached Green River, I began to sing all the Credence Clearwater Revival songs I knew (starting with "Green River"); upon approaching Laramie I tried to recall my visit to their geological museum a few years back and "rehash it." My exhaustion returned to me just East of Laramie, but now I was only 45 miles from Cheyenne. I passed the Lincoln statute at the highest point on I-80 in the country (8640 feet), and mused on how it looked like A. Lincoln, as he signed his letters, was sitting on a toilet. My mind, as you can tell, was quickly fading. But finally, after debating whether to drive with one eye open, and rejecting that option, I made it to Cheyenne. The folks at the Super 8 motel, where I was staying, quickly got me into my room. By 1:00 p.m., I was climbing into bed, with a "wake-up" call for 3:30. After all, the first reception for us spellers was at 4:00 p.m. at the Little America Hotel. Didn't want to miss that.

The Rest of the Weekend

So, when I showed up for the spellers reception at 4:00 p.m. on June 13, I was showered and shaved. I just visited the one semi health-food store in Cheyenne and was casually sipping on some kind of healthy shake. Thus, upon entering the room, I greeted people as if I had slept eight hours the night before and was in top form. In fact, I had just driven 17 1/2 hours, slept a total of about three hours, and eaten irregularly over the past 24 hours. But I was ready to compete. Indeed, I had to be. I went to bed a little early Friday night, after writing a few essays, and then arose seemingly refreshed for the competition on Saturday. I don't believe I was affected by my ordeal in getting to Cheyenne. Or, maybe I was and I denied it. I have always been proud of my endurance, so while this trip wasn't "ho-hum" for me, it wasn't that much of a stretch. Maybe I am fooling myself on that one, too.

Conclusion

So, as you know by now, I placed fifth in the competition. It was the "best ever," in my judgment. After it was over I repaired to my motel room, turning down requests from others for dinner. I just wanted to be alone and regroup my forces. Why? Because I decided, this time a really dumb decision, to make it back in one day to Oregon (Sunday). Why? Well, I figured that since I had gotten there in a day when I was already tired, to get back to Oregon after a sort-of full night's sleep would be a piece of cake. I didn't count on one thing, however. My return route was a different one--along I-80 to Winnemucca, NV and then through the remote, and somewhat hazardous, route through Denio Junction, NV and Lakeview, OR. Indeed, one stretch of Oregon 140 is so scary to me that I still have nightmares about it (descending a steep declivity where you could easily fall off to your death with just the slightest miscalculation at the wheel). I hit Winnemucca by 5:30 p.m. I figured I only had 370 miles to go (it was 790 miles from Cheyenne to Winnemucca); the Internet told me it was only 370 miles from Winnemucca to Salem. I don't know how they calculated that amount. I think that they all just copied each other. It was more than 500 miles to Salem. Hence, my return trip was exactly 20 hours in length.

I pulled into my home at 1:30 a.m. on Monday (having left at 6:30 a.m. Mountain Time on Sunday). I couldn't believe that I had done it, and been so dumb in the process. I only could sleep a few hours, since my "cleaning man" was there bright and early on Monday a.m. Now, it is one day later, and I feel the drive to and from Cheyenne is finally getting out of my system. It certainly is a trip I won't soon forget...

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