This time of year, especially during a cold snap here in Texas, I often think back to my harrowing trip when I moved to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. My story, “Lonely Road,” was first published in U.P. Reader in 2017. I hope you enjoy it!
Lonely Road
“It probably won’t snow much,” he assured me. His voice was confident, but concern flashed in his eyes behind wire rimmed glasses. Was that worry connected to the driving conditions or to the direction we were taking our relationship? I sat on a bench outside the mom-and-pop restaurant in Munising and quickly exchanged shoes for fur-lined boots.
Since we had no good way to communicate on the road, before cell phones, we agreed ahead of time to meet there for lunch. The waitress had alerted us to some messy weather on our intended route along the lakeshore, at the same time she offered dessert of apple or raspberry pie.
I was moving from downstate Michigan to join him in the Upper Peninsula city of Marquette, where we planned to give our marriage another try. He waited for a large logging truck to pass, waved a little salute, and then carefully pulled his dark Jeep and the trailer that carried my belongings onto the road. I followed in my small, silver car and watched the first flurries of the season begin to decorate the landscape.
While I drove, I focused on our future together and hoped we had made a good decision. Typically a nervous winter motorist, I tried to push away any anxiety about slippery roads. Fewer vehicles shared the two-lane highway with each mile, and the area became increasingly remote. Pine and bare hardwood trees were thick, and homes or businesses became scarce. The few towns and villages we passed were each marked by a lone stoplight or blinker. The flakes fell faster, blown by escalating winds. For better concentration, I turned Van Morrison down a bit and switched my fan onto high for more heat. Rarely catching sight of the Jeep through the thickening white, I reduced my speed to keep the car from sliding.
When I passed the first snowplow, I was relieved the county was prepared for the early blizzard. Even so, they seemed to be having trouble staying ahead of the swiftly falling snow. I fought the wheel to hold my course and regretted that my vehicle was so light.
Weather near Lake Superior is famously extreme and can change drastically without warning. A perky voice on the radio suggested Marquette would receive only a dusting, and I expected to be out of the worst of it before long. Although the clock read early afternoon, the sky was a deep leaden-gray. A pickup with darkened headlights passed me, and I flashed mine, hoping they got the message. I stared ahead and followed imprints of tires that shifted with each gust. Time slowed to a crawl.
The Jeep must have been well ahead of me, since I hadn’t seen it in quite a while. My fingers gripped the steering wheel too tightly, going numb, and I tried to relax them. I shifted by body forward in an attempt to see the road more clearly through the effects of the howling wind.
Any expectation of heat for my toes long abandoned, I diverted all warm air toward the defroster to retain a clear view. My wipers laboriously worked to clear the expanse of glass, but to no avail. Ice began to form on the blades, and portions of my windshield became opaque.
I followed what seemed to be a single vehicle track, at times, and avoided the disappearing ditches. I wondered occasionally if I was even on the right side of the road in that tunnel of white. Minutes felt like hours. Although my teeth chattered from the cold, I detected droplets of sweat trickling between my breasts. Heart pounding in my ears, I knew pulling off the road was a magnet for trouble, but finally felt there was no choice.
In the stilled car, I turned on my emergency flashers and wondered how he fared. His Jeep with four-wheel drive was more suited for the weather, but hauled that unfamiliar trailer. Through the span of thick whiteness, I saw a barely visible, blinking light moving toward me. Another plow, I guessed, and prayed its driver could see my vehicle where it sat. In relief, I determined it was well on the opposite side, as it crawled closer. When it stopped across from my snow-covered car, the driver cranked down his window and motioned for me to do the same.
“Broken down, ma’am?” the ruddy-faced man hollered.
“No. I can’t see where I’m going,” I called back.
“Good,” I was surprised to hear him respond, over the sounds of the gale. “There’s a place back a bit, from the way you came. A parking lot to get off the road.”
“Didn’t see it,” I responded, shaking my head in the negative.
“Turn around, and I’ll lead you there,” he yelled and rolled the glass closed before I could answer.
My whole body vibrated from cold and fear. I searched both ways through the whiteout for any oncoming traffic and held my breath. The car struggled for traction and finally completed a slow u-turn, while I joined the giant machine in a wintry parade. After a mile or two, the driver reached his arm out the window and pointed a gloved hand to the left. I spied a parking lot that held several cars covered in white, tooted my horn in thanks, and turned.
Through deep drifts exposing few traces of recent activity, I drove close to the building. After my engine was quieted, I first heard a loud ringing in my ears, followed by silence only the insulation of thick snow and ice can provide. I grabbed my hat and gloves from the seat and started the short trek up to what the dilapidated, crooked sign announced as the ‘Tioga Tavern.’
At a small table near the dancing fire, I took off my gloves and held a cup of coffee for comfort, more than anything else. I assured the welcoming bartender that I wasn’t interested in something to eat. His eyes seemed curious about my situation, but he didn’t ask. Peanut shells embellished the floor, and a silent, old-fashioned jukebox rested on the other side of the scarred, wooden dance floor. It must have been quite the hot spot on a Saturday night.
Not sure what to do next, I waited for the adrenaline to subside and willed the weather to clear. I hated making him worry, but knew he might be driving on toward Marquette without realizing my absence. I also feared he may have slid off the road and needed help. If I called the police, would they look for someone missing in the storm?
Besides the bartender, the only inhabitants that stormy afternoon were a few ancient men in flannel shirts and suspenders, who played some sort of a card game at a table, and several talkative couples at the bar. While I sipped the hot, bitter liquid and argued with my inner self over what action to take, I heard a jingle from the door. A burst of cold air followed a laughing, young couple into the room. They climbed onto stools at the bar and ordered hot chocolates fortified by peppermint schnapps. After they took turns visiting the restroom, they settled in to sample their drinks.
“Man, it’s nasty out,” the young man said to the bartender. “Would you believe, we passed a crazy guy walkin’, back there! He was tryin’ to find a woman’s car. Said she might’ve gone in the ditch, and he needed to walk so he wouldn’t miss her.”
“I wonder…” started the man behind the bar, glancing my direction.
Jolted by their words, I took a deep breath and joined them. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but overhear. Can you tell me what the man looked like?” I asked the newcomers.
“Hard to tell under all that winter gear, but he seemed to have a reddish beard,” the young man answered.
“He wore glasses,” his female companion said, “They were kinda frosting over.”
I grabbed my gloves, headed to the door, and opened to the wailing blizzard. Like frozen sand, it stung my eyes and I raised my hands to protect them. Peering beyond the expanse of the parking lot, I saw a hooded figure in a heavy winter coat adorned by patches of white. He trudged alongside the road with his head bent against the icy onslaught.
Wild laughter of reprieve bubbled up from inside, and I yelled against the wind. I ran toward him through peaks and valleys of snow, like in a dream where movement is almost impossible. Since he didn’t see or hear me, his head remained down as he plodded determinedly ahead. When he finally sensed movement, his head jerked up to meet my familiar face. He veered off what was probably the shoulder of the road and headed toward me. Finally close enough, I leapt at him, and he caught me in his arms.
“Are you okay?” he asked, in a voice nearly stolen by the wind.
“Now I am,” I answered, so sure our life would be good.
I solemnly looked toward his eyes. He gazed back, removed his mitten, and tenderly touched my cheek.
In the many years spent together, we often traveled that same isolated stretch of highway. The sign for the Tioga Tavern still hung lopsidedly from the front of the building. No matter the season, the windows remained dark, and no visitors were seen approaching its door. Had that warm building and the helpful people within been real, or were they figments of my imagination? I may never again feel the complete certainty about anything as I did on that day.
I was gripped by this, Becky – a terrifying story brilliantly told.
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Julie, I really appreciate that!
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That had me on the edge of my seat, I felt cold just reading and couldn’t see it ending well.
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So good to hear, Janet…thanks! It was quite scary, and my telling sticks very close to reality.
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This is a fantastic story! I have traveled down that road and know how bad it can get. I cannot even imagine walking it! Thank you for sharing it, I really enjoyed it.
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Oh, Lisa, I figured you’d been down that road (and many others just like it) in the winter! So happy to know you enjoyed the story.
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This is a beautifully written personal essay. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
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I’m touched that you would say that, Liz. Thank you so much for reading and commenting!
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I have a great appreciation for a well-written personal narrative. They get me every time!
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I feel much the same way, Liz.
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I love this story so much, Becky! I could really feel the “storm dread” – you captured it so perfectly. And the ending! Beautiful. This really drew me in. Thank you.
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I know you can relate to that winter ‘storm dread,’ Cristy. So pleased to hear that you feel I captured it, here. Your comments are certainly appreciated!
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Wow, Becky…that was wonderful! I’m so happy it worked out the way it did, only without the terror of driving. Great story. Just great.
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I’m so happy you liked it, Gigi! You certainly know that terror of winter driving, as well…
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I certainly do. But Im so happy everything worked out the way it did. Again, excellent story.
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This was so good Beth! I have been in storms like that. While reading, I felt like I was there and felt a bit of the same panic I get driving in those conditions. Great details and very glad of the happy ending.
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Cynthia, your comments are truly appreciated! If I can make the reader feel those emotions or remember a time when they felt the same way, then I’ve been successful:)
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What an amazing story. I have driven through blizzards and was right there with you all the while. A perfect ending as well. Well done!
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Thanks for reading and commenting on my story, Darlene! I’m happy that you liked it. For those of us who have been through this type of experience, it’s something we’ll never forget, that’s for sure.
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Becky, this is a terrific story — descriptive and suspenseful — about a weather condition and the human condition. 🙂
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How generous of you to say so, Dave! This means a lot to me.
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I really enjoyed this story! I could identify with the tense, nervous, and cold feeling one gets when driving through a snow storm.
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So happy you read and liked this, Cecelia! It’s an eerie and scary feeling, isn’t it?
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So well written that I couldn’t stop reading. 😊
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That’s always a good sign:) I appreciate that, Irene!
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Beautifully written, Becky. I felt like I was with you the entire time. Anyone who has traveled in similar conditions can relate.
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Thank you, Pete; your kind words are very much appreciated! Yes, that kind of winter travel leaves its marks on us, I think.
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I loved this story. Scene building and the suspense were palpable. Glad it turned out well.
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It’s great to hear you felt that way, Pat! Thanks so much for reading; I know it was a bit longer than most of my posts.
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And worth reading every word. 😄
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Fantastic story! 🙂
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That means a lot to me; much appreciated, Martha!
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❤
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Great writing! Thanks for posting it for us to see.
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Thank YOU for reading and commenting, Paul. I surely appreciate your kind words.
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That is a great story, Becky!
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Lavinia, I’m so happy to read that you feel that way! Thank you. Wonderful to hear from you; I hope that you and yours have a pleasant holiday season.
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All good here. Wishing you a wonderful holiday season, too!
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Thank you!
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Great story, Becky! Sharing…
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I certainly appreciate that, Bette!
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Wow, Becky I was there and what a relief.. Well written.. Tissue Alert! 💕
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Carol, I appreciate your kind words! Yes, tissues required.
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Fabulous story! I couldn’t work out whether it was going to end in tragedy or triumph…
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I’m very pleased that you like it, Sarah! Yes, it was triumph (at least for the time).
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Great story, Becky! I’ve done a few drives just like that one. The best stories are rooted in lived experience, and it showed here.
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I’m so pleased that you enjoyed my story, Audrey. Your observation means a lot to me!
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Wow, I loved this! lol makes me think of the snowstorms we get – my family and I drove through one like this once on our way to Minneapolis!
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You certainly understand how scary this can be, then!
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That story was good, Becky! You described the feeling of driving in a blizzard perfectly, and I actually felt tense when reading that part. But the best part was the end…when you reveal that the tavern where you sheltered was largely abandoned. That adds a real life mystery to the whole thing!
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Wonderful to hear that you like my story, Ann, and that you felt a tension during the reading. My job is done:)
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What a terrific story Becky. I am so glad it had a happy ending.
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Thanks for reading my story, Brigid; I’m so pleased you liked it!
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You describe the panic and uncertainty of driving blind – in weather and in life – with such precision but also with hope. Congratulations on having this story published – it is well-deserved!
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Ah, thank you so much, Kath! Good point, that driving blind can relate to life in general!
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Great story! Liked the end as well
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I appreciate that; happy you enjoyed my story!
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Becky, I often return to your library of works which are enthralling and brilliantly written.
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Delighted with this praise, Lance, which I find very encouraging.
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It is indeed a great pleasure, Becky.
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