We all jumped into our 1967 Chevy Impala and off we went down the backroads into the snowstorm. The snowfall got worse and worse and the wind was picking up. When the snow blows across the northern plains of Colorado during a snowstorm, it often covers the entire road, so complete that you can’t hardly see it.
This particular trip to Grover was unlike many trips. Dad didn’t normally drive fast. I guess he was wanting to make it to Grover before the snow got any worse, so he was driving faster than normal; faster than the speed limit. We were definitely driving the backroads, which was typical of his ways, but this particular time, there was a cop on the backroad.
The police lights flashed on and my dad knew he was done for. It had only been a couple of months since we had been taken away into a foster home and now here he was getting pulled over, driving fast while intoxicated in the middle of a snow storm. But Dad was a smart, manipulative man.
“Can I see your license and registration, please?” the cop asked as he approached the cracked window.