It’s an exceedingly white January afternoon on America’s sketchiest road—white ­flurries rushing the windshield and swirling in the ­mirrors, white ridges and cirques disappearing among torn white clouds. Heck, even the road is white, though it won’t remain so for long. Dack Klein is behind the wheel of his 18-ton Mack plow truck, laughing his big laugh, navigating yet another lethal curve with all the casual confidence of a man who has done this some 7,000 times before. Or maybe it’s 8,000 times.​
An equipment operator with the ­Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT), Klein has worked the 15 miles of U.S. Highway 550 that climb from Ouray to the top of 11,018-foot Red Mountain Pass since 2003. He has worked them at dawn and midnight, on Halloween and Easter and Cinco de Mayo. He has worked them in every imaginable type of blizzard—from the fierce to the downright savage, from the protracted to the never-ending.

Forty-two years old, with a black buzz cut, a stout build, and a probably-should-have-died crash under his belt, Klein is famil­iar with every inch of Red Mountain Pass. A typical shift for one of the four full-time ­employees stationed at Ouray lasts eight hours but will stretch to 12 or 18 when the weather insists. Weekends are more of a theoretical possibility, monthlong runs of consecutive days to be expected. Between late September and early June, Klein spends half as much time with his wife and three kids as he does with his Mack, doing the job, which he calls “pushing.”

Klein stands by as workers trigger avalanches above the road. (Grayson Schaffer)The avalauncher at work. (Grayson Schaffer)Red Mountain Pass has 16 treacherous switchbacks, most without safety rails. (Grayson Schaffer)

Milepost 90, passing below an avalanche path named Ruby Walls: “You’ve got to appreciate the dangers when you’re pushing. Last winter we had a chunk of rock the size of a football field detach right here.”

Milepost 87, entering Ironton Park, the road’s only flattish section: “There have been nights I could barely see past the wipers when I was pushing. It can take 20 minutes to manage this one nasty mile if it’s blowing.”

Milepost 81, beneath Blue Point: “The saying goes that Blue Point will run if you sneeze. Usually it’s a bank slip, but occasionally it’s a giant, and then you’ve got to do some serious pushing.”