Our third trip to Montana, begun on New Year’s Day, was the most grueling ever, even though we had only one child and no pets. Everything was great until snow began to fall and we couldn’t find the hotel in Spanish Fork just south of Salt Lake City. My daughter, Susan, kept saying maybe we should get past Salt Lake, but we were afraid Amy would start crying midway over those miserable overpasses that cross the city.
We settled on a room at the Hampton Inn in Orem and dinner at IHOP across the street.
When the alarm rang at 4:30 a.m., the parking lot was clear and no snow was falling, so we packed up the sleeping two-year-old and headed out. A few miles north it started. Snow, wind, frozen pavement, at least 20 cars overturned, spun backward in the median, nose down on the shoulder, police lights everywhere. At one point we couldn’t change lanes in time to miss an exit that dumped us in Salt Lake’s industrial section, eerie in the pre-dawn gloom.
We finally groped our way back onto the I-15 and pressed on to Pocatello, where signs warned the highway was closed. We followed a semi down the exit and right back up the on-ramp on the other side. Gutsy, but probably stupid.
Blustering our way to Idaho Falls, we had a big decision: Take Highway 20 to West Yellowstone and up to Bozeman through Gallatin Gateway, or stay on I-15 to the 90 at Butte, which is about an hour longer but more open. I talked to a woman who had been stranded in Idaho Falls for a day and a half. She was ready to head out for Missoula and several people were following her. We called the emergency road hotline and learned the 20 was closed in three places. That took care of the decision. Despite all predictions to the contrary, we made Bozeman by nightfall.
All I can say is, God bless Volvo. Our first unpatriotic (that is, foreign made) car in three decades. A week before we left, Susan found a 2001 Cross Country station wagon, with ABS, all wheel drive, less than 35K miles, all the bells and whistles. Some I haven’t figured out yet. It even has seat heaters under the black leather upholstery to warm your tush in the deepest Scandinavian winter. Susan asked my sister, a dedicated Volvo owner, if 35K was a lot of mileage for that car. She just laughed. Her first Volvo, Bjorn, went about 200,000, to be replaced by Sven, now still going at about 180,000.
We may christen our Volvo, St. Olaf.
Montanans are delighted with the five feet of snow (more in the mountains) that fell the day after Christmas and may help to relieve a six-year drought. Ski areas at Big Sky and Bridger Bowl are in heaven except for one small thing. It’s too damned cold to ski. While the kids played on their sled in the driveway, I went for a hike Saturday afternoon and my nose froze. The lead photo in the local section of the Daily Chronicle showed a 15-year-old boy using a snowboard to jump off the roof of his home.
We abandoned plans to take the kids skiing at Bridger on Sunday. Last night, it was 15 degrees below zero. It got all the way up to 5 below at noon today. Wowee! Thank heavens the heat works in this house and it has a gas fireplace so nobody has to chop wood.
That brings us to the other reason for our winter vacation here. We are considering buying a house as an investment, possibly a rental, maybe a place where I can hole up and write the great American novel, away from the distractions of family and all. When I was here last September and the weather was balmy, I wondered what it would be like during a real Montana winter. So I thought it would be smart to see first hand how such a property performs during January. Are the roads plowed? Does the power fail? Do the pipes freeze? Does the heater work? How much do you have to pay Northwestern Energy to keep the gas and electricity on?
So far we’ve looked at four older houses in the “Historic” district between MSU and Main Street. All were “under contract” or in escrow after being listed for just weeks. One we liked that seemed a bargain, if a bit of a fixer-upper, was just north of Main in an area that is expected to appreciate considerably as older houses are enlarged and refurbished. It, too, was under contract. A few that had been on the market since September, or longer, had “problems.” And one that had apparently had its problems solved was priced at $400K. Too late. The only available one in our price range was a real blight on the landscape. Oh well, Wednesday we’re going out with a Realtor friend who helped Betty and her husband find their home.
And if the temperature ever gets above maybe 10 or so above, we may go skiing. The only thing that looms is the weather forecast for the drive home. Bless St. Olaf.