The town is very loud just before dawn. Not with cars, but with the sound of snowplows scraping diesel engines growling, and shovels hissing against steps. The flashing highway sign at the edge of the city says in orange, “WINTER STORM WARNING—EXPECT LONG DELAYS—UP TO 76.” Drivers slow down and stare, as if they can’t believe the number. Seventy-six inches That’s not a dusting; it’s a new landscape being built on top of the one we already know.
School buses are parked in dark lots. A truck driver in a rest area checks his phone and updates the state DOT app. He sees red “closed” markers spreading across major routes like a rash. The storm isn’t here yet, but the closures are already having an effect.
You can feel the area getting ready, like someone just turned down a huge dimmer switch.
When a warning turns into a snowstorm
The first flakes always look harmless. They slowly spin across the highway, catching the light from headlights and rest-stop signs. They look almost pretty. After that, the rate goes up by two, then three. In less than half an hour, visibility goes from miles to yards. The dashboard temperature flashes between 27°F and 24°F, and the wet snow on the shoulder turns into rutted ice along the lanes.
The radio announcer keeps saying the same thing over and over: “Winter storm warning in effect, total accumulations up to 76 inches in higher elevations.” It seems like the number is wrong, like the forecast has a typo. But traffic slows to a crawl, and brake lights stretch out in a red, nervous chain.
Marcus, a long-haul truck driver, stops at a truck stop off a major interstate that goes through two mountain passes. The parking lot is already full of rigs and trailers parked at strange angles, even though it’s only 10 a.m. The TV shows a looping radar image of a blue band that is getting thicker across three states while we drink burnt coffee together.
State transportation officials say that rolling closures will start at noon. First, a pass to the summit. Then a freeway that goes for 40 miles. Then a big road that people use to get to work every day. Pictures start to show up on social media: snow already up to car doors in higher canyons, drifts curling over median barriers, and a school parking lot that is empty except for one half-buried bike rack.
This wave of closures makes sense in a simple way. Plows lose the race when the snow falls faster than 2 inches an hour and the wind starts moving drifts across lanes. They clear a strip, and it goes away in minutes. Visibility drops, the risk of crashes goes up, and emergency crews have a hard time getting to cars that are stuck.
Shutting down important roads early isn’t just being overly careful by the government. One jackknifed semi at a time, it keeps a bad situation from getting worse. And when forecasters say that the bull’s-eye zone could get up to 76 inches of snow, it’s hard to argue with that.
What to do when the roads stop moving
The first real choice people have to make is surprisingly easy: Should I move now or stay where I am? When a winter storm warning reaches “historic” levels, the best way to stay safe is often to not travel at all. But life doesn’t always go as planned on the radar. Kids need to be picked up, shifts need to be filled, and deliveries can’t just disappear.
Thinking in terms of time windows is a smart thing to do. When closures are announced for the evening rush, there is usually a short window of time in the late morning or early afternoon when secondary roads are open and traffic is lighter. That’s when you should only do the most important things, with a full tank, blankets in the back, and no need to “push through” if things get bad all of a sudden.
We’ve all been in that situation when you say to yourself, “It’s only a few more miles; I can do it.” That voice is what makes people get stuck on exit ramps and half-buried in parking lots. When alerts start talking about feet instead of inches, the usual “toughing it out” rules don’t work anymore.
People who do well in storms like this usually have one thing in common: they set a limit for themselves before they get on the road. For some, it’s when they can’t see the lane lines. For some people, it’s when traffic slows down to less than 25 mph for more than a mile. To be honest, no one really does this every day. But on a stormy day with 76 inches of snow, that kind of pre-commitment can make the difference between a tense afternoon at home and a scary night in a cold car.
A state transportation spokesperson told local reporters, “We’re not trying to scare people when we start closing interstates.” “We’re trying to keep the troopers and tow truck drivers safe.” When the plows leave the highway, everyone loses it.
That simple sentence has a quiet list that we can all use. When the government starts closing down major roads, your plan goes from normal to tough. One way to think about it is:
- Cut down on trips to only the most important things: food, medicine, and work.
- Change to storm-friendly routes: fewer bridges, more lights, and services that are closer.
- Make a car kit that is ready for you to be stuck for 12 hours instead of just 12 minutes.
- Don’t listen to rumors; instead, use official apps and radio to keep track of when businesses close and reopen.
- Make plans for one “backup place” where you can safely stay if you can’t get home.
Those little not-so-exciting decisions are what slowly change your risk level during a big storm.
The next morning and the days after that
The silence can be creepy when the snow finally stops. Two days ago, highways were full of cars. Now they are empty and covered in waist-high drifts. The guardrails are just metal shadows under the white. Plows line up in groups and cut narrow paths through what looks more like a glacier than a road. For businesses in the area, each closure means lost shifts, spoiled deliveries, and customers who couldn’t get there.
But the days after a big storm often have their own strange energy. People who live nearby tell each other stories about the night the freeway went dark. Parents talk about how hard it is to do Zoom calls when their kids are home for the third day in a row. Hikers share pictures of trailheads that look like doors to other worlds. The storm is over, but its shape stays in daily life for weeks.
| Main point | Detail | What the reader gets out of it |
|---|---|---|
| Taking warnings seriously as limits | “Up to 76 inches” means plows and emergency crews will struggle, not just that snowbanks will be high | Helps you figure out when to stop traveling and start staying safe sooner |
| Planning not just routes, but also time windows | Travel only during the safest hours before big closures, and make your trips short and to the point. | Decreases the likelihood that you’ll get stuck between shutdown segments |
| Getting ready for a stormy day | Car kit, backup shelter plan, and realistic expectations about delays and cancellations | Makes you less vulnerable to sudden changes and official shutdowns |
Questions and Answers:
Question 1
What does a winter storm warning with “up to 76 inches” actually mean for road travel?
Question 2
How early do major routes usually close in a storm like this?
Question 3
What should I keep in my car if closures start rolling across my usual commute?
Question 4
Is it safer to take back roads when the interstate is shut down?
Question 5
How long do closures typically last after such an extreme snowfall?
