Another lapse in teen age judgment. When I was in high school in Soda Springs, Idaho, during the early1950s, there was a road that was part of a loop around the south side of Alexander Reservoir. This road was a county road that was not normally kept open during the winter months. The Bear River ran in a configuration that required a bridge across said river along this backside road at both ends of the reservoir. The one on the east end was known as the first bridge, the one on the west was the second bridge. Alexander Reservoir, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the area, lies about three miles west of Soda Springs right next to U. S. highway 30.
It was a nice warm spring day in April, and on our lunch hour a bunch of us guys were riding around trying to figure out what we could do until it was time to go back to class. Someone suggested we see if we could go around the backside of Alexander reservoir to the second bridge. This would be a loop of about eight miles; four miles down the back country road over the second bridge where we would pick up highway 30. From there it was another four miles back to town, which should give us ample time to make it back to class a one o’clock.
So that’s what we decided to do. We were in a classmate’s Chevrolet convertible. I believe it was a 1949 model. It was dark maroon with a white top. We called it the girl magnet, because, actually, it was just that. It was quite a classy car. Well, anyway, we started around the road toward second bridge. We crossed the first bridge and were tooling down the road when a couple of snow drifts loomed up ahead of us.
As we approached these drifts we contemplated whether we should try going through them, or if we should turn around and abandon the idea. As we got closer, our classmate who owned the car thought we should turn around. He actually owned this car in partnership with his older brother, and he knew if he caused any damage to this vehicle, he would be in deep trouble with older brother. I looked at the drifts and didn’t think they looked all that formidable, and I was certain they were soft enough, and small enough, that with a little speed and momentum, we could smash through them. Beyond these drifts, it looked like clear sailing the rest of the way around the loop.
Still, our classmate was apprehensive, and he started to slow down in preparation to turn around. There were six of us in the car, three in front; three in the back seat. I was in the middle in the front seat. I was certain we could make it through, so I reached over with my foot and pushed the accelerator to the floor, and the car surged ahead. This first drift was not as soft as I had anticipated. In fact it was more like an iceberg, and when we reached it, instead of plowing through it, the car rolled up on top and was airborne for about twenty feet until it landed in the middle of the second drift which was much softer.
This stopped us completely, and we were stuck. The impact caused the hood of the car to flip open as well as the trunk lid, scattering debris from the trunk all around the car. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you I was not a very popular member of the group at that moment. The only redeeming factor was that it caused no major damage to the car.
Luckily, amongst the debris, there were a couple of shovels. We managed to dig ourselves out after about two hours, which left us with a lot of explaining to do about why we were late returning to classes that afternoon.
