This bit of prose is in response to a query recently put to me via a radio program that asked listeners to share their most terrible travel experiences.
Thus:
It was on Christmas Day, 1981.
The place was on a snow-blocked gravel surfaced country road in Southeastern Saskatchewan.
The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly.
The temperature was around minus 25 degrees Celsius.
The wind was blowing enough to cause ground drifting.
The vehicle was a front wheel drive 1978 Buick Century Sedan.
The occupants were myself and my new husband.
The background of the story is that we had eloped the week before
Christmas and were in the process of making the big announcement to our families by firstly arriving at my parent's house with plans to meet up with my new in-laws in the afternoon about 30 miles away.
After making the Grand Reveal and partaking in a bit of 'punch bowl diving' at my parent's rural home we gaily proceeded cross country looking forward to springing the news on the next group of unsuspecting relatives.
Waving gaily goodbye with hugs, kisses, and well wishes off we went heading south on snow packed gravel roads. I appointed myself the confident guide due to the fact that as I had lived in the area all my life I would certainly know how to get from my parents' house to where my new in laws were spending Christmas.
About five miles down the road I, in my homing pigeon mode, decided that we had to turn left at the next corner. My husband being in love and wanting to please obediently did so.
For some reason these two prairie raised newlyweds paid no attention to the fact that there were no marks in the snow on the road except for some rapidly disappearing snow mobile tracks and that the snow filled ditches were level with the road .
We did notice after a while that the snow seemed to be getting deeper and deeper as we traveled forward. As there was no way of being able to turn around we just kept moving forward until the inevitable happened and we became stuck about three quarters of a mile down from where we turned off from the main road.
It being 1981 there were no cell phones and being young and stupidly confident there were no extra coats, blankets, or survival kits in the car so we decided we would have to walk for help.
I remember that long cold walk with the wind blowing on my nylon covered legs (as brides did not wear ski pants in those days). I did have mitts and a toque but the coat was woolen and the wind cut through it wherever there were seams. There was no traffic on the road it being Christmas Day and most people were already settled in for the day of festivities.
We headed into a farm yard after about a 40 minute walk and rushed up to the door eager for warmth and comfort but alas, no one was home! We then had to turn around and go back to the main road and walk another half mile to a farm yard with lots of vehicles parked in the driveway.
The startled family was still sitting around the kitchen table finishing its Christmas Dinner. My parent's were phoned and after about 15 minutes family members came and helped get the car out of the snowbank and we continued on our Christmas Wedding Way.
Never again have I ever driven in winter without proper clothing, candles, shovel, extra blankets and food in the vehicle.
