I grew up where snow was common every winter, but never have I been through anything like the snowstorm that occurred on January 10, 2017. What I thought would be a mildly stressful trip from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho to Portland, Oregon turned into a full blown nightmare as the night went along.
It all started the Sunday before, January 8th. My younger sister had planned to visit me in Idaho where I was visiting some of our relatives. A lot of snow and icy roads were predicted starting Sunday afternoon, so in the end my sister decided against making the drive over to visit. As I stared out the window Sunday afternoon, I was glad she hadn’t tried to tackle the roads. There was already at least a foot of snow from the week before, and more and more was falling down.
The next day, the snow storm worsened. The local news began to be dominated by stories of neighbors helping each other push stuck cars and fatal crashes due to dangerous driving conditions. By this point, I was highly doubtful that my Greyhound bus scheduled to head to Portland the following day would actually leave town. That night and the next morning, the online bus tracker had no information about my trip, so I showed up at the expected time of boarding. Only about ten minutes after the scheduled time, the bus appeared, and in no time I was on my way home.
As we made our way to Spokane, Washington where I would transfer to the actual bus taking me to Portland, the snow continued to fall. After a short wait at the Spokane station, I was on the road once again. While it was nice to see a real winter snowfall like the ones I grew up with, I was excited to be getting back home where I assumed snow would hardly be an issue. As I came to learn later, I was dead wrong.
Once I and my fellow riders reached Pasco, Washington we encountered our first major delay. The bus driver announced that we would be waiting twenty minutes at most for other buses with transferring passengers to arrive. That twenty minutes soon turned into an hour and then into two. Finally, after two frustrating hours of sitting and pacing on the bus, the driver told us that the route we had been scheduled to take was closed and that we would now be taking an alternative route to Portland.
The new way the bus took seemed to be full of back roads and narrow, rarely used highways. I couldn’t help but think of how illogical it seemed to use these roads when the main highway we were scheduled to use was unable to be travelled on. As day turned into night, it became more and more difficult to see out the windows. By this point I was amazed that the driver was still making it along just fine. We stopped once at a McDonald’s in the middle of nowhere in Oregon, but other than that, I had no idea where we were for any of the trip after Pasco. Therefore, it was extremely difficult to estimate when we would finally arrive in Portland.
The first sign that we were coming close to our destination was passing by the Columbia Gorge Outlets. Strangely, shortly afterwards we turned off onto an obscure residential road. We continued through residential and shopping areas for almost an hour, and at one point the bus had to slide back down a hill in order to gain more momentum to push up to the top of it. At this point, I was beginning to get worried. I had never been on these outskirts of the city, so I had no way of knowing where we were or how close we were to the station downtown. To make matters worse, there seemed to be almost as much snow falling here as in Idaho and Washington. Suddenly, as if by magic, we arrived at a bridge crossing over several lanes of highways. Looking down from the bridge, I saw several cars stopped on the roads below, drivers out walking around the slanted cars. Presumably they had spun out of control or gotten stuck in the accumulating snow. Before pulling into the station, I checked the Trimet website for updates on the buses and MAX light rail trains. At the top of the website was featured a warning in bright red advising no one to travel unless absolutely necessary. Delays were expected across the city. Now I was becoming very concerned about how I would finish the last leg of my journey home.
In Portland But Still So Far From Home
Upon arrival at the Greyhound station, I learned that our bus was the only one that made it into Portland that night; the buses that we had encountered in Pasco several hours before had refused to continue their journeys, and many were stranded in Pasco. I also learned that in Spokane, my suitcase had not been transferred to my bus. Thankfully, I had two carry-on bags on my person, which contained my wallet and laptop.
The time was now approximately 10 o’clock. We had arrived four hours later than originally expected. I was exhausted. I was frustrated. I was scared at being out on the town by myself so late at night. The one thing that brightened my day was the arrival of the exact MAX train I needed just as I exited the bus station. I quickly hopped onto the train, more than ready to be home soon.
But things just couldn’t be that simple, not with the amount of snow that was still pouring down across the city. Instead of blasting off along the tracks as usual, the train stayed stopped in front of the Greyhound station. After a few minutes, the conductor announced that the switches for the trains were being affected by downed trees, and we would have to wait until the system was up and running properly to head out. Just a little while later, it was announced that almost all buses and trains throughout Portland were at a standstill.
For the next hour and half, I felt like I had been thrown into a classic survival movie. As time ticked by, the night becoming later and later, the train still unmoving, people began to talk about walking across the Steel Bridge, the bridge our train would cross as soon as we could move forward. Another group of people speculated that a bridge farther south was still accessible by another bus. Soon people began to exit the train, determined to cross the river on their own two feet. Two men who were sitting across from me got the wild idea that they could walk from downtown Portland to Vancouver, Washington. To my disbelief, the two men gathered up their things and exited the train to put their plan into action.
Even though a large number of passengers were leaving the train, I willed myself to stay. At least here there was warmth and electricity. At least here there were other people nearby to assist me in case of an emergency. Sure, it was technically possible for me to walk home, but the thought of becoming lost, developing hypothermia, or being struck by a car swerving off the road convinced me that staying on that train was the best course of action.
Around midnight, I began to become extremely anxious. The train was still sitting on the tracks. I had no idea if the other buses I needed to take to arrive at my house were running, and it was still up in the air if my roommate could pick me up from a nearby MAX stop. The fact that I might actually spend the night on the MAX train began to sink in, and I was getting scared. Since my cellphone was almost completely charged, I decided to call my boyfriend. He didn’t pick up. Understandable, since he was in California facing major flooding and landslides; his cell reception had been in an out for days. I called my sister. She didn’t pick up either. Realistically, I knew she must have been asleep, but at this point I was just looking for someone to talk to that would convince me that staying on the train was still a good idea, and to help me calm down. I realized that besides the few passengers still riding with me in this compartment of the train, I was on my own.
Moving Slowly But Surely
After nearly two hours, the train was finally able to move. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, the conductor explained that the train would no longer be going on its scheduled route. Instead, it would be going in a completely different direction. In other words, it was pointless for me to stay on the train any longer. At the next stop, myself and several others exited the train.
We found ourselves at the Rose Quarter, a major transfer station for buses and light rail trains. But tonight, there wasn’t another moving form of public transportation in sight. Another train heading into the city was there, but remained in place. We passed several buses lined up to come to the Rose Quarter, but they never moved. Only one single bus was actually at the Rose Quarter, and something was obviously wrong with it; the body of the bus was slanted, the entire vehicle taking up two lanes. No one was inside the bus. Clearly that bus would not be of any help.
Upon exiting the train, I stood and stared out at the empty Rose Quarter, trying to decide what in the world I should do next. Obviously, nothing was moving, which meant I wasn’t going anywhere either. As I stood in place contemplating my next move, I noticed two women attempting to push a man in a wheelchair through the snow. I rushed over and asked if I could help in any way. The three of us began kicking and scooping snow away from the wheelchair wheels, but no matter what we did the chair just wouldn’t budge. As we worked to clear a path, a loud snap rang out as a tree only about 20 feet away from us broke under the weight of the snow. A utility truck pulled over near us a few minutes later, and the driver brought out a shovel to help clear a path for the man in the wheelchair. Finally, the man was able to make his way across the street, presumably to the train across the way that was still at a standstill.
Even though I had heard several people say that no taxis were running, I dialed a local taxi company. The phone rang on and on, and I willed someone to pick up. With no buses and no trains running, I was facing the very real possibility of now being stuck outside in the snow for an indefinite amount of time. The prospect of spending the night on the streets of Portland, alone, in the snow and wind, carrying valuable property such as my laptop with me, was absolutely terrifying. The alternative- walking home through several inches of snow and uphill nonetheless- was equally as daunting. Thankfully, just as the taxi company’s automated message for its unavailability began to play, a bus headed in the general direction of my house pulled up nearby. I picked up my bags and ran to the bus, nearly slipping on the ice on my way over. After confirming with the driver that he was indeed following his normal route, I dashed onto the bus and plopped myself down on the first available seat.
Heading Home
Soon we were off, the bus barely making it uphill to begin our journey to North Portland. The bus driver called out that stopping at bus stops no longer applied and that we should just tell him where to stop along the route, with or without a stop being present. Along the way, we picked up several people trekking through the snow. While passing through one neighborhood, several adults with beers in their hands along with a few kids with sleds waved cheerfully. Although our pace was slow, we were finally headed to where we needed to go.
I exited the bus as close to my house as I could, and then proceeded to wait at a gas station for my housemate to pick me up. Even in the tiny parking lot of the gas station, vehicles were becoming stuck in the snow. Even though she was only travelling a couple miles, I hoped and prayed her car could make it to me in one piece.
Thankfully, she arrived safe and sound, and we inched our way home. And finally, at 2:30 in the morning, I plopped into my warm and safe bed. Never before had I been so grateful for my mobility; I certainly hope the man in the wheelchair made it home safely. Never before had I been so thankful to have a heated house to come home to; imagining staying on the streets of Portland overnight in the middle of a snowstorm made me realize just how terrible it is to experience homelessness during the winter season. The night of January 10, 2017 was by far one of the worst nights of my life, but I am also incredibly grateful that I managed to get home at all. From my knowledge, the bus I took home was the only bus running. That night, I ended up being safe and warm in my own bed. I hope and pray I never have to experience a cold winter night any other way.
