It started to snow hard. We were on Highway 6 headed southwest out of Ely, Nevada. I was helping a friend move from Washington State to a wonderfully desolate Shangri-La due north from the fabled Area 51 in Nevada.

We were running three trucks more or less together. The Maestro was in the lead truck, the second piloted by a fellow who came along to help if the Maestro would swing back through the Salt Lake City area on the way home and haul some equipment he had there back to Washington, and the author in the third truck.

I’ll call the other driver Wilbur, just to protect his identity. “Wilbur” had not been in a big truck for over a decade but seemed to get along without difficulty.

“I noticed a small van slow down beside the cab of my truck while it was passing.  I glanced over and noticed that the occupants appeared to be a young mother and a toddler, who was in a child seat. 

It then pulled on ahead of me, and I made a mental note that I might watch for them on up the road.  I was on I-84, between Ontario, Oregon, and Baker City, Oregon. 

The outside temperature was well below freezing.