The Historic Elk Mountain Hotel

Part One

“Come in she said I’ll give you, shelter from the storm.”

Bob Dylan, Shelter from the Storm. Recorded September 17, 1974.

“Stay right behind him,” my wife instructed as I crawled along interstate 80. Blowing snow had the semi in front of us running with its blinking emergency flashers, fading in and out of view. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road out of fear the big rig would suddenly fill the entire windshield having come to a dead stop in front of us.  

“Move to the left, Babe,” my wife says having assumed the role of watching the edge of the road stakes through the white-out. I ease over, away from the markers, with my eyes glued to the white world in front. 

My knuckles were locked on the steering wheel as I braved a quick peek at the Explorers outdoor thermometer that read -5. Twenty minutes ago, it was 28 degrees as we rolled along through light flurries at seventy. The storm that had been forecast to hit southern Wyoming several hours after we would arrive at our destination in Denver had other plans. Now, with a gas tank nearing empty, near zero visibility, and temps forecast to dip below -20 overnight, we were in a what might be called “a bit of a pickle.”

In all honesty, we arrived in this situation after a series of seemingly innocent decisions. Each one seemed reasonable at the time it was made, but looking back now, each decision put us directly in the storms path.  

First, we left our overnight stay in Utah at seven AM. instead of six as I had originally planned. Leaving an hour earlier would have put us in Laramie when the storm hit and may have allowed us to push south, into Colorado where we would have escaped the worst of it.

Second, I did not top off the fuel tank at a previous stop because I still had more than enough fuel to reach Laramie. After the weather worsened, I decided to fuel up in Walcott, until we saw the closed gates not allowing eastbound traffic to return to the Interstate. We made a hasty decision to keep going rather than spend the night in a parking lot. At that point, conditions were not all that bad.

Third, we took longer in Green River for a food stop than we should have. I walked the dog around after feeding him breakfast more casually than I should have, thinking we had plenty of time to reach our destination before the storm hit. It was snowing when we left Green River.

Interstate 80 is an exposed mountain pass the entire width of Wyoming with elevations exceeding seven thousand feet in several places. When traveling in high elevations, speed is safety. With a storm approaching, I should have been focused on getting out of the way much sooner.

As we inched along, we caught a glimpse of a sign reading “Gas, next exit.” With visibility at near zero, and fearful we would get stuck without enough fuel to keep us warm through the night, we made the decision to fuel up right here, wherever here was. We crawled up the off ramp, turned left over the interstate as directed, and searched for the Elk Mountain Conoco store and fuel pumps, which I could barely see as I pulled in the parking lot. I used my body to shield the tank from the blowing snow, wedged my knee on the rear bumper to keep me in place, and filled the tank. After which, I pulled around the side of the back side of the store which did a fair job of blocking the wind. Inside, the clerk was on the phone as a man shopped the shelves for snacks from. As the clerk hung up, a sheriff deputy entered the store. 

“Okay guys, what do I do here?” I ask.

“Which way are you headed?” the sheriff deputy asked.

“Denver.”

“You won’t get past Laramie. Every road out of Laramie is now closed,” he informed me.

“So, what do I do?”

“Go slow and you may be able to make it to Laramie. I don’t know how much experience you have, but you can expect to not be able to see in places,” the deputy stated in a no nonsense tone.

“So, I can get back on the interstate?” I ask.

“There isn’t a gate at Elk Mountain to stop you,” the young clerk offered from behind the counter.

“You won’t get past Laramie,” the deputy said again.

It was just about then that all our cell phones received an emergency alert for a “Snow Squall.” I did not bother to read past the headline. I looked up and asked: “how long is this expected to last?”

“No telling,” answered the clerk.

“The interstate is unlikely to open before noon tomorrow,” the deputy added. “Crews must get out and clear all the wrecks once the storm clears. That is going to take a while”

“I don’t suppose there is anywhere to stay around here.”

“There is a hotel in Elk Mountain.”

“Are they dog-friendly? We have our dog with us.”

“Probably not, but you can ask,” replied the young man.

“Do you have the number,” I ask ready to punch in the number which the young clerk rattled off from memory.

“That’s impressive,” I said. “I don’t even have my wife’s phone number memorized,” which produced a slight chuckle from the man behind me, waiting to purchase his snacks. 

I moved out of his way and pressed send. I heard the man tell the deputy his big rig was parked across the road for the duration of the storm. He left the store and disappeared into the white world outside.

Courtney answered and promised to have a room available for us. She told me they don’t usually allow dogs, but it would be okay to house our furry friend for the night considering the current situation. 

“We are at the Conoco station off the interstate and are on our way.”

The deputy gave me directions back over the interstate to the small enclave of Elk Mountain. “Watch your speed as you come into town,” he advised. “The limit is 25, though you will probably not be going very fast anyway.”

I assured him I wouldn’t be. 

“Thanks guys!” I said turning to the deputy. “I do not want to wind up being one of the folks you need to go out and rescue.”

“I appreciate that,” he replied as I left the store.

Author’s note: I failed to make note, the name of the clerk or the deputy. In fact, the only name I managed to get was that of the nice lady who answered the phone and checked us in to the Historic Elk Mountain Hotel. In the future, I must do better with names! Everyone we encountered in Elk Mountain deserves our gratitude. There were many who spent the night of sub-zero temps in their cars and trucks while we were made very comfortable.