It was September 26th, and snow was in the forecast. Not a dusting of snow, mind you, a full-fledged blizzard. Just our luck— we were departing on the 29th, before sunrise. Maybe it won’t stick, I thought hopefully. Think again.

It started snowing on the 27th. Light, powdery flakes, not the slushy stuff, and plenty of it. The storm was significant—covering Banff to Great Falls, Montana. But Dave and I had a plan—and a Jeep. Thank Goodness.

It’s not that we didn’t consider postponing our departure. We checked for road closures and there were none. Surely the roads were plowed regularly; after all, it was an interstate highway. And, we were completely packed and ready to go, with accommodations waiting for us in Idaho Falls. So we went for it—and left early the next morning.

Wow. Beyond Calgary, the interstate had only one lane open, and it was right down the center. Thankfully, traffic was light to non-existent, and most drivers took their time. 

The worst conditions were between Calgary and the border. Very little to no plowing. It was just like a scene from Ice Road Truckers. We must have counted twenty or more cars in ditches, along with some jack-knifed semis. The packed ice resembled washboard.

As we approached the U.S. border in Sweet Grass/Coutts, the road miraculously cleared. Although Montana had plenty of snow, the freeway was hazard-free. We arrived in Idaho Falls a little later than planned—thankful that our first 12-hour day was in the books. 

Our second day of travel was a blur. Driving through Salt Lake was interminable. Parts of Southern Utah and Northern Arizona were spectacular, but they came with miles of sheer nothingness. Happily, Dota and Luci had settled into their routine—a walk and a treat with every fill-up.

Flagstaff was the final milestone. Our ETA—two hours and counting. We anticipated two lanes turning into four and wondered how much the cactus in our backyard had grown. 

And then we started to see saguaros—it was amAZing.