Daylight’s Wasting

Mark and I made a mad dash out West for the Thanksgiving so we could spend it with my GRANDBABIES. And their parents, but you know how that goes. We had planned on flying, but geez, the airlines bend you over when there’s a holiday, so we drove. On the way out we drove straight through the night because there was a storm that was supposed to hit at Jackie’s house on Wednesday night, so we wanted to be there long before it hit. We had a great time with them – more on that another time.

Knowing that a straight through 18 hour drive is grueling, we decided to leave on Saturday morning, get over the mountains in the daylight, then stop for the night on the other side of Denver. There was snow forecast for the I-70 Mountain Corridor and if we had to deal with snow, we wanted to deal with it during the day. Every other route home was not an option because of Winter Storm Cara.

Hi, Cara. Nice to meet you. You’re a bitch!

Saturday morning we woke up and I heard no noise upstairs. Normally, the kids were awake when we’d get up. But it was silent on Saturday. I opened up my computer and (for the umpteenth time) started going through the weather for every major pass in the mountains – all the places where we could possibly run into trouble. Grand Junction should start us off with some trouble. Eagle had only 10% chance of trouble. Vail looked like we were going to for sure have trouble. Loveland pass, which is what I was most worried about, looked to be clear. It never dawned on me to look at the weather that was happening outside.

Mark and I got our stuff packed up and headed upstairs to eat breakfast. I pulled open the blinds to let some light into the kitchen.

“Oh, shit, Mark! We gotta go!”

It was snowing. There was only an inch on the ground, but I knew the mountain pass heading towards Price was only going to get worse if we waited.

We got our stuff into the car about the time Jackie and the kids got up. We kissed and hugged them tightly and headed on our way.

One thing about Utah and Colorado. They know how to deal with snow! Even though the city streets were covered, the highway going through the canyon was not. Heading up the mountain went well. Passing through Soldier Summit went well. We were making decent time. Then I started my decent into Price. I was going at a reasonable speed because – well – I’m not an idiot. Coming out on the other side of the mountain the sun was shining. BRIGHTLY! I pushed my windshield wiper fluid lever to wipe of the crud that’s inevitable for snowy roads.

Nothing.

My fluid was empty. I flipped my wipers up to high to try and get as much crap off my windshield as possible, but the glare of the sun on them was ridiculous. I could see out the top and out of the bottom of my windshield clearly and the whole middle section was gross. So I slowed down, as any rational person would do. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t go hurtling off the side of the mountain because I had missed a turn in the road. I followed the double yellow line successfully for quite some time.

Then I hear:

“Daylight is wasting!!”

I said, “What??”

He said, “We need to take advantage of the daylight. What are you waiting for?”

“DUDE! I can’t see out the windshield! I’d just as soon today not be the day.”

(Whenever one of use turns to sharply, or pulls out into traffic that the other doesn’t appreciate, we always ask if today is the day we die.)

He’s all, “How can you not see?”

“I have no fucking washer fluid! GEEZ! Do YOU want to drive!?”

He hates driving. I knew his answer would be silence.

We got into Price. We filled up with gas. I washed the windshield. We bought washer fluid. We headed on our way.

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Once I could see clearly again, I go, “Daylight’s wasting!”  He was really quiet. I burst out laughing. “What were you thinking?” I asked. He said, “All I knew was that you were going slow and I know we need to get to Denver by dark.”

I was still just shaking my head that he was so stressed over it and would randomly go, “Daylight’s wasting” in the snarkiest tone possible. As I’d sing along to songs on the radio, I’d change the words to “Daylight’s wasting” and make it fit into the melody. It became the joke for the rest of our day.

Stop to get gas and food in Grand Junction. Hop into the car. “C’mon, baby, daylight’s wasting!”

Stop by the river to take pictures. Get back into the car, “Alright, let’s go, daylight’s wasting!”

Hurtle down the mountain pass a little faster than necessary. “No worries, baby. Daylight’s wasting.”

Get past Loveland pass. And STOP. The traffic just stopped! I can’t even count the times one or the other of us said, “Daylight’s wasting” while we went down the mountain at between five and twenty miles per hour. It gave us some comic release when we could have been getting agitated at the ridiculous traffic that went on for about an hour and half.

We hit Denver at dusk (which, oddly enough, had the worst weather since we entered the main I-70 corridor – east of Grand Junction), and spent the next hour between there and Limon (our scheduled stop for the night) just chit-chatting about normal life stuff. It felt great to get out of the car, stuff our faces with great Mexican food, and just relax for a bit. We caught up on some of our shows, then called it a night.

In the morning as we were starting to stir, Mark rolls over and wraps around me. “I’m HORNY!”

I leaned up on one elbow and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Daylight’s wasting, Baby. Daylight’s wasting!”

::evil grin::

3 thoughts on “Daylight’s Wasting

  1. Oh man, my parents learned about ski traffic the hard way as well. Saturday afternoons/evenings and Sunday afternoons/evenings are HELL going eastbound on I70 through the Vail Valley corridor to Denver. Sorry you guys stuck in it, but it sounds like you made the best of it!

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