Yvette's Inner Geek Blog

You may be wondering why the hell this three-part blog story is called “Park City Whiteout.” Well, this is the finale, and I promise an answer!

—

In a somewhat undramatic turn of events, we got in to see Bass Ackwards! It turns out that the theater wasn’t even full. After we were seated and waiting for the film to start, I asked a girl in front of us to take a photo of me and Marie. She did, and I returned the favor. We shared a nice conversation with her and her sister, who turned out to be 2/3 of teenage triplets from Phoenix. Their other sister stayed at home with their dad to go to a dance instead of going with their mom to Park City. Obviously we know who the cool ones are: Sydney and Giselle!

The picture of them is much cuter than the picture of me and Marie. My fault, mostly. And the lady a few rows behind us who was eating in a somewhat ungracious manner.

So finally, at 8:30pm, we were able to see a film at Sundance. Unfortunately, it was not as wonderful as we’d hoped it would be. Marie put it well when she called it self-indulgent. The director was also the co-screenwriter and the main character. He seemed like a nice enough guy during the Q & A, but still.

Though there were elements of the film that were touching and very well-done, there were also elements that dragged on and I felt should have been edited down or out. Bass Ackwards was part of the NEXT series at Sundance, which features films done on a “microbudget” by choice, not necessarily necessity. According to the producer, the microbudget was about $100,000 for them. Considering that the film involved a cross-country journey in a small 1976 Volkswagen van, that seems impressive. And the cinematography was pretty awesome.

However, there was waaaay too much screen time of Linas in a deep v-neck t-shirt. Man boobs I can handle, but Men, please note: combining them with deep v-neck t-shirts is a bad idea. Making that a prominent wardrobe choice when the audience is supposed to like the main character is a terrible idea.

And now… drum roll please… Why this 3-part blog is called Park City Whiteout.

Marie and I left the theater a little after 10pm with an interest in going home. No midnight screenings for us, partially because we’re lame like that but also because it was snowing and we knew the drive home was not going to be perfect. I called Ben, who reported that there was a pretty strong system hitting Salt Lake City and headed east into Park City. Niiiice. This is the last photo I took that night.

We caught another bus that dropped us off a quarter (maybe half?) mile or so from the damn Park & Ride we worked so hard to get into. There was an inch or two of snow on the car, but it was starting to come down a little heavier. I started the car, pulled out my long ice scraper/brush, and cleared it off. Marie told me I was “snow-capable” because she would have just started the car and used her windshield wipers to clear things off. I guess growing up in Northeastern Ohio has given me skillz?

There are two ways to get to Provo from Park City: the way we came (a scenic 1-or-2-lanes-each-way state road through Provo Canyon that has a lot of twists and turns) or the longer way down Parley’s Canyon (I-80) through Salt Lake City. We both needed to pee before heading out, because we neglected to use the restroom at the theater before leaving, so we stopped by the Marriott. I asked the girl at the front desk if she’d heard anything significant about the roads, and her answer was basically, “they really suck.” The big storm was not letting up.

She looked up what UDOT (Utah Dept. of Transportation) had to say, and apparently Provo Canyon was closed and Parley’s Canyon was super-hyper-caution-red-zone. I started running through alternatives to driving home in my head—finding a hotel room (not likely), finding a fellow volunteer’s floor to sleep on, maybe just wait a couple hours. A sensible-looking manager walked by and joined our conversation. She confirmed that it would be a messy drive down Parley’s Canyon. But when I asked her what she would do in my place, she revealed that she lived in Salt Lake and would be driving home. “Earlier is always better than later,” she advised.

If I didn’t have my little Subaru with all-wheel drive and fairly new tires, we probably would have stayed in Park City. But I needed to be back at the Sundance Resort for another volunteer shift at 10am. Marie wanted to get home to her family if possible, plus she had faith in my driving, so we grabbed some sandwiches at 7-11 and hit the road.

My car handled very well for the conditions—though I stayed alert and was ready to pull over if necessary. The snow’s intensity varied from light to whiteout as we drove. The road leading up to I-80 wasn’t too bad, but once we hit the interstate it s-u-c-k-e-d. Cars and trucks were moving 15-15 miles an hour in two lanes (on what is regularly a 4 or 5-lane freeway) over a few inches of snow and patches of ice underneath. It looked like the plows hadn’t even touched the road. We passed at least 20 cars and light trucks that were either pulled over or stuck in snow drifts and obviously not making it out of the canyon that night. Several semi trucks were also (wisely) stopped before the summit.

There were three types of people still driving on the road:

1. Those like me with moderately capable cars who drove with confident caution
2. Inconsiderate jerks in big trucks who passed by at unsafe speeds trying to cause accidents, if not be in them themselves
3. Idiots who attempted to navigate those conditions in front-wheel-drive cars without chains or snow tires

My tires slipped a couple times, but my all-wheel drive kicked in and helped me recover quickly—probably assisted by the new-ish tire treads. People of types 2 and 3 made me nervous for different reasons, but overall it seemed that the drivers on the road knew what they had gotten themselves into. Only once did I think I really might be in an accident: I wanted to pass a sedan that was slipping and sliding all over the road but going much slower than everyone else. I waited until it was slipped off to the right, then I hugged the left as much as I dared and sped up a little faster than I was comfortable with. I was almost past it when it started sliding suddenly in my direction… it was closer than I would have liked.

But we made it down the canyon unscathed! (Unless you could white-tinged knuckles as scathed.) The downhill slope of the canyon I’d been worried about really wasn’t that bad at 30 miles an hour as long as I kept a safe distance from the cars ahead of me. The kicker was coming out of the canyon and turning onto I-215, where the snow suddenly changed to a light drizzle and the roads were wet but otherwise clear. Yes, Viriginia, there really is a difference in precipitation types at different elevations.

Marie was perfect company for that ride. She helped keep the mood light without being a distraction. And fed me Pringles of Comfort when conditions allowed. She even gave me permission to gnaw on her arm if we got stuck and she was the first to die from the elements. What a gem!

I finally got home around 1:45am, about three hours after we left the theater to head to the car. It was a huge relief to be home, even though I only had a few hours to sleep before my shift the next morning.

The moral of the story is don’t attempt to drive in Parley’s Canyon during a big snowstorm unless you have a snow-capable car and a healthy fear of your own mortality. And always carry a shovel, blanket, flashlight, and sand or cat litter in case of winter emergency. (And/or a friend who is okay with cannibalism in the event that survival is on the line.)