What wild legs do with winter
The highway looks more like a track for the luge than a road for my truck. Snow is shoved to both sides and my tires are sliding over an ice-coated middle. I’m not going 140 miles an hour as athletes do in one of the oldest Olympic sports. I’m only going 40 mph.
A two and a half hour drive to Salmon, Idaho is turning into four. Even though the road is empty of cars, I’m not alone. The highway is the only place plowed and the animals know it. Read more.