Road Trip

And to think, 10 years ago, the mood was perfect. We drove an hour, holding hands, up to the lake. We ate a tantalizing five-star meal, and he proposed to me beside the roaring stone fireplace underneath the moosehead in a sultry lodge.

Could we recapture that moment- that perfect moment meant for lovers? We decided to try. What more perfect place to celebrate our 10 year anniversary than the same rustic lodge, the same expensive restaurant, and a night away from the kids in a romantic spa-suite.

And so the road-trip began.

My first clue into the hell that was to come was when I called to check our reservations for dinner. I had left a voice-mail earlier in the day securing our time for dinner. When I called again to make sure our time was still available, the hostess giggled.

“You should have no problem getting into the restaurant this evening. Most of our reservations have been cancelled due to the weather,” she said.

“Really? Is it that bad?” I dimly inquired.

“Well, it’s supposed to snow this evening; the worst storm in years,” she replied.

For some reason, I decided that the weather forecast didn’t apply to me and my husband. We were going to enjoy a romantic weekend, and nothing would stop us, not even a less-than-perfect weather report. I ignored the subtle clues the hostes implied and we were on our way.

In a 2004 Mustang GT. The, ahem, perfect off-roading vehicle. Without cables.

The first hour we cruised along just fine. The memories were recaptured; the flirting began. Then suddenly… the flurries began. They were tame enough. We turned off of the main road and began to descend down the mountain toward our destination.

I had to pee. Really bad.

“We can’t stop now,” exclaimed my husband. “We need to get there as soon as possible, so we can maintain traction. What’s our next turnoff?”

I paused, remembering that the directions were still folded neatly on the kitchen island, back at home. We would need to stop and inquire which road we would need to take next.