Praying for a clear path on these winter roads

Giving myself plenty of time to get to Tacoma last Saturday, I left home at 5:30 a.m. for the usual three-hour drive. Even with a stop at Indian John Hill, I was at the Dome with more than an hour to spare.

I prayed to God to help me get there and back safely, asking for a clear road. He could not have provided a better road.

God has always been good to me that way. I don’t remember how many times I’ve made that drive in winter and never had to chain up, but it goes back to when I was 20, stationed in Tacoma with the U.S. Air Force.

I have to admit, though, that I avoided chaining up last year by not going that route. I still don’t know if I would have had to chain up.

My daughter Jenny, a school teacher in Walla Walla, drove me over that time. We were nearing Bellevue on the return, when my phone said it was snowing in the mountains.

An overhead electronic reader board near Issaquah flashed a notice that traffic was stopped momentarily. I went to my phone and learned there had been an accident somewhere in the mountains.

I told Jen to turn around and head for Portland. She protested that would take too long. I told her I’d been in that situation before and had gotten stuck for hours.

“It might clear up faster this time,” she said.

I agreed. But, I said, I wished I’d made the same decision every time before. Being indecisive had not worked out.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go to Portland.

I never checked afterward to see if I’d made the correct decision. I didn’t want to find out I’d been wrong. Besides, we didn’t have to chain up.

The cold wouldn’t have been good for Jen or her hands, and the chains couldn’t have be good for the tires. Worse yet, I might have had to help Jen.

Having lost the time driving to Issaquah, we got home just more than five hours later. Fortunately we had Mom’s car, which goes 500 miles on one fill-up. We stopped once for snacks.

It turned out to be a fun drive. Although it rained quite a way down I-5, we felt as if we were in some exotic land. We saw signs with names of towns we’d never heard of or we thought were in other parts of the state.

Jen and I have similar tastes in music and Mom’s car has satellite radio. So we listened to the Frank Sinatra channel all of the way home. We had fun discussing the history behind some of the songs and other musicians of the big band era.

Jen couldn’t make it this year. She’d had surgery for a leg problem early in November and had to make up lost time at her part-time job with Starbucks.

So I took my old gold clunker 2001 Malibu. Yes, the one with the falling ceiling, squeaking driver’s door, pealing seal coat, and 317,000 miles. And no satellite.

After I started working the Moses Lake, Othello, Mattawa and Royal area, I told myself I would drive that car on that route until it quit.

I was fearful about driving the Malibu as far as Tacoma, but it lit up as quickly as I turned the starter. I patted the dashboard and said my prayer.