Colby planned a romantic get-away for us over Valentine’s Day. We were going to drive to Sante Fe, New Mexico on Friday, ski all Saturday, and relax before coming home on Sunday. It seemed like the perfect plan, but somewhere along the way things went very bad.
(If this was a movie, scary music would be playing. Imagine it, please.)
On Saturday, we awoke fairly early, checked out of our hotel and headed towards the ski slopes. Colby had been skiing at Sante Fe before and knew where the slopes were located, but decided to take an alternate route his stupid Garmin suggested. We were soon traveling down a windy, one lane road that didn’t look like it was very well-maintained. I should have spoken up and demanded we go back into town, but I resisted. (It was the holiday of love; my man didn’t need me griping at him.)
Before long, the road was noticeably worse. It was no longer covered in dirt; instead there was packed snow. The pick-up wasn’t having any problems and the road was too narrow to turn around, so I figured we would be okay. Finally, after about ten minutes, we realized that the road was indeed closed ahead. Colby drove to a clearing in the woods and went to turn around.
This is where things went a little sour. Somehow when he was turning around, he got stuck. Not very bad, but our lovely Ford was having difficulties getting traction. After about fifteen minutes of digging, pushing (on Colby’s part) and whiney (on my part) we had finally dug a big enough hole around all four tires to get us out. We hopped into our respective sides of the vehicle and Colby hit reverse- hard. As soon as we got out of the hole, he begin to cram on the break, but it was too late.
In a second, we were sliding backwards into a riverbed. I’m going to sound like a total Drama Queen, but my life flashed before my eyes. At that point, I think we both thought we were sliding over a huge cliff. We had no idea whether the truck was stable and both feared that it was about to flip over.
My first words were, “I think we need to call 9-11.” Colby agreed and we immediately got them on the line.
At this point, things were bad… but they would only get worse.
The police had no idea where we were. We repeatedly explained what route we had taken and gave them our exact GPS location. (Of course, I don’t really trust that little piece of crap anymore, but still.) The first hour passed quickly, but I was dismayed when the cops called back again and informed us that they had been looking on the wrong road. I was even more annoyed when they called again and explained that they thought they knew where we were at, but would not be sending a trooper down the road. Instead, they would call us a tow-truck.
My annoyance grew to frightening levels when the tow-truck refused to come out unless we gave them a credit card number. What would have happened if we didn’t have a credit card? I probably would have died out in the middle of the woods somewhere.
At this point I was getting very grumpy. Before we left the hotel that morning, I had requested that we stop and grab a quick breakfast. We had skipped dinner the night before and I woke up with a rumbly-in-my-tummy. Two hours into our adventure, I was absolutely starving. I wanted food and if I didn’t get it soon, Colby might just lose a finger arm.
We waited and waited and waited some more. We called the tow place on the hour, every hour but we just seemed to be getting nowhere. Finally, after five hours of sitting in that tilted pick-up, I gave up. It was now four o’ clock and we had yet to see any real progress. It would be getting dark and cold soon. I was scared that we were going to have to spend the whole night out there if we didn’t take action.
You can’t save someone who won’t save herself. At this point, I was ready to do something. “I’m going to walk to town and get help. You can either stay here or go with me.” Colby, of course, followed me like the amazing man he is.
We bundled up real tight and began to hike down the road we had came in on. After about a half mile, two cross country skiers came by, offering us a ride. Because we were cold and desperate, we happily climbed in. They drove us into town, leaving us at a well known diner where we could meet the tow-truck drivers.
Colby called the tow-truck drivers, informing them that we had hitched a ride into town and would show them where we were. They, of course, got an attitude and complained that “We should have just waited… They were getting close to us.” We knew this was a total lie because we had just traveled down the very road they needed to be on and not seen them.
Seven hours after the pick-up slid off the road, we finally made it out. An hour after that, I was having a juicy steak and laughing with Colby about our adventure. We have been told repeatedly that marriage and relationships aren’t always easy. There will be hard times. Last weekend we were both flexible and understanding. I wanted to get mad and blame Colby for our trouble, but I didn’t. I’m sure he wanted to tell me to stop whining about being hungry, but he didn’t. Instead, we both tried to adapt to the curve ball life had thrown at us.
While it was fair from the perfect weekend, there is no one in the world that I would rather slid off the road with. But the next time he takes me into the mountains, I’m bringing snacks.
(P.S.- The pick-up works perfectly. No damage, at all. We really were lucky.)