To get to the tiny parking lot at the Bighorn Lodge in Grand Lake, Colorado, the hotel where I will be staying for the next three days, I have to drive my car up a very steep, icy, scary-looking incline. Noticing this ferocious beast upon check-in, I ask if I could please park at the bottom of the hill, along the street. The very nice hotel guy politely refuses stating that street parking is reserved for guests with trailers. I inform him I am very nervous to drive up that icy ramp. He tells me that I will enjoy having my car closer to my room; especially when I unload my luggage. I assure hotel guy that, really, I don’t mind one bit lugging my stuff up a mountain. I’ve hauled my stuff up mountains many times, both figuratively and literally. Ignoring the frightened tone in my voice and the look of sheer terror in my eyes, hotel guy refuses my pleas and insists that I at least try to drive my Toyota Camry up the short, snow-covered driveway and into the appropriate space. Realizing no amount of pleading, groveling, or begging will convince him to allow me to use a parking space reserved for guests with trailers, I grudgingly accept my fate. I have to at least attempt to park my car in the assigned spot even if it means humiliation, embarrassment, and a call to my insurance agent. Returning to my car, I manage to muster a little courage which quickly disappears as I realize hotel guy has followed me outside. Great. Now I have an audience to witness my defeat. He directs me to back out a little ways onto the street, pick up some speed, and just go for it. With hotel guy cheering me on, I take a deep, cleansing breath, put the transmission in reverse, and back into the street. I switch the gearshift into the drive position and stare the beast straight in the eye (the driveway, not hotel guy). I blink first. I roll down the window and ask hotel guy once again if I can please park in the street. He says no. I ask him if I am far enough into the street. He replies plenty far, just give it some gas and go. As I gently press the accelerator, the car begins to inch forward. Increasing the pressure on the pedal, with both the motor and my heart racing, I shoot up the hill and into a parking space. I made it! I have conquered the slippery, slick Yeti! And with only the slightest little fish-tail! Getting out of the car, I wave to the supportive hotel guy and proceed to carry my luggage across the icy terrain to warm and cozy Room 15 where I lock the door and settle in for the night.