I once had the privilege of being the marketing director for a large ski resort in the southeast. It was a cool job, with many perks–free skiing and snowmobile access. I even had a furnished condominium on the property as part of my compensation package.
These perks were meant to offset being on call 24/7 to address guest complaints, as well as the thirty-minute-plus drive down the mountain to a grocery store or a decent bar. It never balanced, though. During the ski season, for example, it was nearly impossible to escape the mountaintop, even for a few hours.
Occasionally, my boss took pity on me for those long working hours and would grant a weekend furlough. On one such, get-away I spent the weekend in a major city about three hours from the resort. I left on Thursday night and spent a relaxing weekend with friends and family. I wasn’t quite ready to return to the mountain after such a great trip so I stalled my return on Sunday until about 4:00 p.m.
Because I was running later than planned, I decided to take a short cut. About halfway into the drive between the city and the resort I could drive over a scenic parkway and shave twenty minutes from my trip. However, when winter was in full swing, the parkway had a barricade at each entrance to prevent motorists from being stranded at the higher elevations.
On this particular Sunday, I arrived at the parkway entrance to find the barricade in place, even though there was no snow on the ground and the temperature was well above freezing. I decided to go around the barricade and over the parkway to cut down on my travel time.
I was twenty-five uneventful miles into the thirty-mile trip when I saw patches of ice on the road. I was near the highest elevation on the parkway, so I became concerned about those patches turning into a solid sheet of ice further down the road. I slowed down to 15 mph, but it wasn’t long before my fears came true–a solid sheet of ice covering both lanes of the parkway. I pumped my brakes lightly to slow the car down. Big mistake.
The light tap on the brakes caused the car to go into a spin. I was on a slight decline, so the spin quickly became a sliding spin. With each 360-degree rotation, I could see the side of the road and the near 4,000 ft. drop over the side. The only thing between me, and what might have been the world’s fastest shortcut off the mountain, was a small, rusty guardrail.
On the fourth spin, I hit that guardrail. Fortunately, I didn’t slide into it with enough force to break the barrier. Instead, there was just enough force to bounce the car back from the edge and across the road toward the rock wall just off the road shoulder. As luck would have it, the bumper of the car came to a rest on a small rock ledge in the wall, leaving the wheels hanging above the ditch.
I was relieved to have stopped, but I now had another problem. I had no rear-wheel traction, which is a big problem for a car with rear-wheel drive. I got out of the car to survey the damage. It tried to rock the car, it wouldn’t budge from the ledge. After about thirty minutes, I gave up on that plan. At that elevation, it was cold and the temperature was dropping fast as the sun set. I got back in the car to warm up and to think about whether to wall the next five miles to the main road, or wait to see if some other foolish soul would brave the parkway.
Just as I was about to start walking, a couple of hunters happened by in a four-wheel-drive truck, graciously pulled the car off the rocks, and helped to me on my way.
That uncontrolled spin on top of the mountain was literally the scariest event of my life. But, it has helped me to keep my perspective when life becomes difficult.
There are times in life when I’m moving along nicely when I see trouble ahead. I’ll try to prevent that trouble by tapping the brakes to slow life down, only to find the path I’m on is slipperier than I thought, and I find myself spinning out of control. When I stop the spinning, I often find myself at the mercy of others–strangers, even–who help me get unstuck and to set me on my way again.
Sometimes we choose to travel the closed roads in life and find ourselves spinning out of control. While an uncontrollable spin is a horrifying experience, I’ve learned the Universe has a way of bringing people into our lives who have just the right equipment to stop our spin, send us on our way, or when needed, go with us to our next destination.
The Universe works on its own time, we must learn to be patient. Waiting for those who the Universe chooses to send is much better than a long, cold walk on an isolated road, any day.