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Tales of I-80

Tales of I-80: World Turned Upside Down

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The truck’s rear wheels slipped, floated right off the pavement, took on a life of their own. In an instant, we were headed towards the right shoulder, still on cruise control, forward progress dramatically askew. Steve corrected, the truck veered left, whiteness loomed past the windshield. I heard, “Omigod, omigod, omigod,” and then the world turned on its head.

Tales of I-80: Call for Entries

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Everyone who has lived in Wyoming has his or her own tale of weather horror or road warrior mayhem on the 401-mile stretch of Interstate 80 that traverses our state. Is there a driver among you, for example, for whom the name “Elk Mountain” does not evoke an instant shiver and frightening vision of black ice and howling winds?

Tales of I-80: Finding a Lighthouse

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Once you are underway on a stretch like that, there’s no turning back, and your elbows and hands lock so Super-glue solid that you probably couldn’t move the wheel more than an inch anyway. You can feel yourself afloat on the ice, and you don’t dare accelerate or brake – raising your headlight beams might be enough to send you spinning on the glass. An exit – what few there are – is out of the question, because the trucks behind in the blinding storm aren’t going to see you or slow down. Even changing lanes is out of the question – you will begin a graceful pirouette and end crumpled in the borrow, or orchestra, pit.

Tales of I-80: Hydroplaning Semis

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By far my most terrifying I-80 moment came not in winter but in late August a few years ago in the desert badlands east of Evanston. I was traveling to California with my wife, two kids, Indian pariah dog and Chinese cat. A sudden deluge unloaded on the treeless moonscape as we descended the Bigelow Bench at about mileage marker 28. The heavy rain turned the highway slick and reduced visibility to almost nothing.