Wolf Creek Pass
One holiday season, I was driving over Wolf Creek Pass
headed to Grandma’s in Wyoming in my 1983 Chevy Caprice
with my two small kids in the back.
An article in the local paper declared Wolf Creek Pass
the most dangerous pass in Colorado,
but that’s arguable compared to Red Mountain Pass.
Wolf Creek was the subject of C. W. McCall’s 1975 song
that described it as “37 miles o’ hell.”
That wouldn’t be my description exactly,
because I’ve driven over it many times.
Regardless, Wolf Creek Pass has many hairpin turns,
runaway truck ramps and cliffs with heart-stopping drop-offs.
More often than not, it’s snowing as it was that day.
My motto for driving that old car up the pass was,
“Going forward is all that matters!”
As we crept up the side of the mountain in dreary skies,
falling snow, and slush that built up on the tires,
we were almost to the summit when the radiator hose blew.
I gingerly backed up toward a wide spot
of the roadside next to
an unrailed drop off.
I planned to coast back down to the base
of the mountain where I had seen a business
and hoped to use their phone.
Looking back behind me I saw sky.
As I backed up, the car started sliding toward the cliff.
I thought, with terror, that the kids would go over first.
My heart hammered. I don’t think the kids realized
what was happening. The car stopped.
I breathed again. It was only two or three seconds,
but it was the scariest two or three seconds of my life.
I coasted down the mountain and used the phone as planned.
I got the car repaired and returned home.
The next day, we went the long way around through Utah.
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