Donner Summit's Road Warriors — Mens Adventure Travel

Donner Summit’s Road Warriors

A century and a half after the Donner party ate their own shoes, before turning a covetous eye upon their dearly departed, Sheldon "Shel" Wagstrom lives in a world of whirling flakes, laboring diesels, sand, sparks and small Japanese sports sedans spinning wildly out of control. It was snow that defeated those errant Pioneers and snow that threatens the gamblers, skiers and coast to coast travelers that rely on this, the nation's femoral artery.

On any given weekend afternoon 30,000 cars will cross Donner Pass. The casinos and storms call and the gamblers and skiers come. Often into weather such as the December storm of 1992 where eighty mile per hour winds, and the resulting zero visibility, closed the highway for three days in a row.

As one of two men entrusted with California Department of Transportation's massive Rolba Rotary, Wagstrom loves the big storms that roar with the intensity of five inch an hour snow fall. Where the diesel howls as the Rolba throws 5000 tons an hour in a high crystalline bow wave.

Laboring up the west side of the 7239 foot summit, he admits, "If you want a real adrenalin rush and you want to see what snow removal is all about, you should ride in the Rolba. Just thinking about it sends a shiver up and down my spine and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I love it! The deeper it is, the harder its snowing, the bigger my smile is. I just love it!"

Tonight, however, with a deep Pacific front starting to cover the road with slush, he is driving an orange Cal Trans sander from Kingvale to the Donner Lake Interchange and back. Laying down a mix of salt and red sand, after twenty-three years with Cal Trans, Shel could predict what happened next. "It's starting to glaze up," he warned at the same moment a new Japanese sports sedan blistered by on the right. In the next instant the sedan spun and slammed into the guard rail. Plastic and bits of metal exploded off the front end as the car spun back across the highway, hit a second guardrail and stopped.

Even if he could have swerved across the two lanes to the shoulder, there was nothing Wagstrom could do to help. Instead he advised the dispatcher in Kingvale and increased the rate of sand and salt.

Cal Trans Supervisor Stan Richins, who is in charge of Donner Summit, says people do stupid things in storms. He's seen a car spin into the blades of a running rotary and another park in the fast lane to chain up. Richins was plowing in a blinding blizzard when a man dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts appeared in his headlights. "He was so cold he couldn't talk," the supervisor recalls. "He said he had gone sightseeing at night with his children, turned off the road and drove his rig over the bank. His kids were thinly dressed and to help them stay warm, he gave them his shirt and pants and started into the blizzard." When Richins found him, he was within minutes of freezing to death.

Even more famous are the Stolpes? who Cal Trans stopped in Auburn to tell them Highway 80 was closed. Determined to make it through to Idaho, the Stolpes? bought a map at an Applegate grocery store and tried to blow the road closure. They almost payed with their lives.

Richins motto is "Barring accidents, Interstate 80 will not close on my shift," but as Shel spreads sand across the frozen lane, that accident starts to develop. A new mustang convertible suddenly spins. and to avoid hitting it, a semi driver gets on his brakes sending his trailer sliding across two lanes of traffic. If the truck jackknifed or worse, rolled 80 would close. Due to a combination of skill, luck and divine providence, the Mustang suddenly straightens, the Semi driver gets off his breaks and the big rig slowly rights itself.

Front End Loader Dumping Sand in Wagstrom’s Plow

Shel shakes his head, "Traffic will give you a stress level that makes you feel as if your chest is going to blow up." he says. "If there weren't any cars here this road would be spit and polish from guide marker to guide marker, no matter how big the storm was."

But traffic is his business. Without the traffic Wagstrom wouldn't have a job and so he puts up with the fast European sedans that squirt around the right side and drivers that flip him off, and the image of Cal Trans employees driving from one coffee break to another.

Last winter Wagstrom went to work on December 27 and didn't have a day off until February 1. Twelve hours a day, seven days a week, he worked 175 hours overtime, plus 168 hours regular time in January alone. The trucks go through a set of chains per 12 hour shift, which keeps four people working full time replacing links.

"It's tough on marriages." Wagstrom admits over the incessant windshield wipers. "Tonight one guy's mother is celebrating her ninety-sixth birthday and he won't be able to make the party. "

And yet Shel loves huge storms like the monster of 1982 that dumped ten feet of snow in five days. The storm tested the limits of the men and equipment, wore out chains, hydraulics and blades and when it finally howled away to the east, left the men with a measure of their worth.

Shel comes upon a young couple clinging to each other on the high center snowbank. In the midst of the raging blizzard, the man is wearing pants and a t-shirt, she has on a cotton dress, The have somehow managed to drive their car over the snow bank and down the embankment. Shel advises dispatch of their predicament.

Shortly before eleven p.m. Richins pulls the sanders in to let a snowfloor develop. The timing of a chain closure is critical. Too soon and the pavement would be dry, the expensive BMWs, Lexus and Mercedes would break chain links and beat their fenders into half moons of bright steel. Too late and accidents would soar. Richins estimates they witness two fatalities a week on the Summit, no worse really and maybe better than any other major freeway.

Chaining up in the huge Kingvale garage, Shel admits, "Speed is the worst problem and the skiers drive the fastest of all." With the increase of travelers crossing the Summit, Cal Trans has grown more serious. Gone are the days when drivers would fill a water balloon with red food coloring and stick it in the bank. When the rotary hit it, the fountain would turn blood red, scaring the hell out of the operator.

Now most drivers agree that there is too much political pressure from casino operators, hoteliers and resort managers who scream when the pass closes.

After 23 years, driver Gene Mendonsa wishes he could just once sit at the Tides Restaurants in Bodega Bay and watch it rain. " The only bad thing about this job is you never get to watch it rain." he muses.

You wonder what, besides a pay check, keeps them going.

Gene shakes his head and confesses, "The reward is after you've had a four foot dump, the snow fall slows to a trickle, and the moon comes out and shines off the new snow and clear road....then you feel good about what you've done. "