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>>>>>The driver should've known after the first 300yds when branches were scraping across the top of the vehicle, moreover after passing 4 signs warning of doom, after decending a slope, crossing a stream and then struggling to climb a long and lonely trail that something was afoot.

If they wanted to get out, they could've gotten out before it was too late. Perhaps there was something more nepharious afoot than a mere mistake. Just who was driving the car? Who was asleep, and had anybody been doing any drugs?<<<<<<<

I will be kind to you and not mention the reference to drugs, although I am worried that I am getting to be a pushover in my old age.

As for the rest of that, it really looks to me like the only conclusion that it comes to is that they must have seen something is wrong, so they must have been dumb not to go back. If not back, which way? It is obvious you think that they should not have continued.

Now in this recent post >>>>We drove a 1973 Caprice. One thing I know for certain: we'd never try going back were we came from. <<<

I am really confused.

I am not going to ask you what I should do if I found myself on such a road in a snow storm with the axles dragging the snow, but for the education of all of the nice people on this thread, would you please explain?

If you should not continue and you should not go back.......

'73 Caprice thing was a reference to the vehicle I occupied with Dad on the annual vacation we made into the woods. In 1976 we made vacation in the Continental Divide. We endeavored to find that parcel of land that they'd bought that used to be parcel to the Hartsel Ranch. The Hartsel Ranch at one time comprised 1/3 of Colorado proper.

If you remember the Caprice of olden tyme, then you know what 1/3 of a state actually is. Nevertheless, there were times we had to get all the crap out of the Caprice.

I just spoke with Dad. And he remembers the incidents quite well. First because he/Mom lost their shorts in the Hartsel Ranch deal, but secondly, when I mentioned he and I poring over the maps on the picinic tables.

Thing was, he was adamant that we didn't get topo-maps because of our "prospecting"; we got "county" maps after that fiasco.

Immediately I interjected: but if you remember, they STILL weren't good enough.

He didn't say much.

When I interjected that I wanted to go some place (usually some abandoned mine or something) he whipped out the topo-map and slammed me with: "We can't get there from here in enough time."

It was ALWAYS a struggle between me an him.

Look. James had an "adult" im the car with him. If Dad got us into a problem back in '76 in the mountains of Colorado, the two of us would've gotten ourselves out of it. No doubt 'bout it. The road we were on we'd never have pursued in the winter. NEVER.

Its something more than just the branched scraping on the top of the car, its the road itself. We'd have backed up.

And I tell you that way before the incessent "Nya nhe nah niya, do you know where your going? Maybe we should stop to ask for directions." I tell you one thing: I grew up with maps, I know maps, and I die by maps. Maps are who I am. I plot maps, I diagram them, I AM the map-maker.

That's what they teach me in school: maps. They teach me how to map data's existance, processing, disappearance. I'm a map guru. I've been taught how to map logical/physical essence of systems. I've been taught to plot the flow of data, and whom it affects. I've been taught to plot processes and their dependence upon data.

I'm going to run down into a ravine and kill myself.