(I’m listening to “Oceans” by Coldplay)

It’s my “human” day.  The day I get to leave my “dad card” at home.  My introvert time.  Time to recharge my batteries.  I was well on my way, then I ran into this:

I’m somewhere in that mess of traffic on the left hand side of the picture.  I-70 westbound was closed due to an accident.  There was an alternate route, but it would be jammed.  I might not make it there until 11am or later.  An easy 1 hour drive could easily turn into 3 1/2 hours, and that was just the way there.  I pulled off the highway and into a park and ride to weigh my options.

I had a nagging feeling.  Something was telling me not to go; it just wasn’t my day.  I had been driving for about 40 minutes and made it about 18 miles.  Usually it’s an 18 minute drive.  The roads were icing over.  I had already seen spun out cars in the median, and I was just outside of Denver.  More snow was going to fall, and of course, the highway was closed.  I checked the traffic cameras on my phone.  “Well, it doesn’t look too bad after Idaho Springs,” I told myself.  I called the wife and let her know what was up.  She just said, “Just keep in touch and let me know what you decide.”  I just couldn’t shake that feeling.  Something was telling me not to go.

Now, I have driven in worse conditions, many times, and I have driven a lot.  I’ve driven 1,700 miles in 24 hours.  I’ve driven in snowstorms where visibility was zero. I’ve been the last person through the gates, just before they close a freeway due to hazardous conditions.  I’ve even followed a trucker’s taillights for 50 miles at 15 mph through a blizzard to get where I needed to go.  I was thinking about these trips of yesteryear, when, “Hey, the cars on the highway are moving!  They’re opening the road!”

“Alright,” I told myself, “It looks kind of dicey, but we can make it.  We’ll try to get to Idaho Springs and we’ll see what happens from there.”  I pulled out of the park and ride and made my way to the entrance ramp.  The entrance ramp was closed.  The gate was down and a state patrol car was blocking the road.  “What? Why?” I asked myself.  Cars and trucks were slowly churning up the highway, so why was the gate closed?  I told you, something was telling me not to go.  It wasn’t telling anyone else, just me.

I pulled into the park and ride again and waited.  I checked road conditions again, I checked forecasts again, I looked at the traffic cameras again; everything looked “just okay.”  I started to try to convince myself, “Yep, let’s go.  This is your day off.  You don’t have the kids. This doesn’t happen often.  You haven’t been up in a while.  You have to take advantage of this.”  Half convinced, I started calculating.  “Okay, if it takes me 2 hours to get up there, that’s 10:30am.  Then I can ride for a few hours.  Then it will be 1:30.  That will give me 2 hours to get home, just in case.  Then I can be home on time to pick up the girls.”

Then, the dad card, the card I thought I had left at home, kicked in.  Maybe it was the thought of my girls.  Maybe I second guessed my calculations.   “Wait a minute.  You saw the resort cameras.  There’s 4 inches of new snow up there…4.  It’s not a foot and a half.  If you were supposed to go, why was that gate closed, even though the road was open?  Besides, the roads are snow-packed and icy.  The tires need to be replaced at the end of the summer.  I wish I had done that sooner.  Whatever.  We could still make it, but why risk it?  For 4 lousy inches?  You have to be back by 4pm.  Is it worth it?”

Recently, I took an avalanche safety course called, “Know Before You Go.”  There’s 5 steps to follow in order to keep you out of an avalanche.  On the mountain, they’re extremely valuable.  They’re life-saving.  With that said, I never really thought they could apply to the drive.  I guess sometimes, the journey can be more dangerous than the destination.  The 5th step is:  Get Out of Harms Way.

Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have blinked.  I would have gone and I most likely would have made it and had a great day.  I was human then, but that was then.  Now, I’m a dad.  I have responsibilities.  I’ve made promises.  That takes priority.  Today, all signs said, “Stop.”  Something was telling me not to go, so I didn’t.  It just didn’t seem worth it.  The mountains will be there tomorrow and I’ll live to ride another day.

One of my favorite snowboarders, Jeremy Jones, once said, “Sometimes the mountains are saying, stay away.  Other times, they’re saying, come on in!  Let’s party!”  Today, they were telling me to stay away.  They weren’t telling others, just me.  It’s good to listen.

I got home, unloaded my stuff, and put down my phone.  I’m not going to check the road conditions for the rest of the day…well, maybe once, when it’s time to get my girls.