Driving down the road that cold December on our “shortcut,” the feeling was unmistakable.

Turn around and go back.

I flipped the copper Mercury Monarch around and headed back toward the main road.

My new wife and I talked some more before changing our minds again. Three minutes later, we turned the car around again and headed down our “shortcut” somewhere in the middle of Idaho.

Welcome to our honeymoon in 1988. We had spent a week in Forks, Wash., and were now returning to college in Idaho as a married couple. During a late-afternoon stop, we discovered a road that might shave a significant amount of time from our trip back to Rexburg. We would be giving up Interstate 84 for a less-traveled, two-lane road, but we were confident the time savings would be worth it.

We were wrong.

It wasn’t more than an hour later when we could make out signs of more snow in the growing darkness. It soon became packed on the road, forcing us to slow down to no more than 35 mph. The further we drove, the higher the snow piled around us.

I remember stopping around 8 p.m. and taking in the surreal scene. The glow from the night moon cast a soft glow over the white scene spread before us. We inched slowly along, noticing we were the only car on the road for miles and no towns in sight. It felt like another country, or even another world.

We didn’t have any cell phones or see any homes forever. The consequences of breaking down or running off the road could be disastrous.

It was sometime around midnight when we pulled into Rexburg, about two hours later because we left the main road for our shortcut.

Welcome to my life.

That’s me, taking the road that seemed easier at the time. When, in reality, it was much longer and more difficult.

Can’t blame anybody else for those obstacles. This was a video game of my own making.

While it’s not always easy, I’m content to stay on the main road now.