That one rekindled a memory, Jacqui, but mine's not as dramatic as yours!
Ian's previous employers used to send him abroad to work from time to time. (The first place he went was Poland - just a few days later Chernobyl went up, about 500 miles from where he was - bloody typical).
There was a couple of years' gap, and then he got sent to southern Wyoming for a couple of months. When he got back I informed him that I needed a break from the kids for a weekend, and he actually agreed to me heading off on my own. I opened the Good Beer Guide on a random page, hoping to find somewhere I hadn't been before, and I found Llangollen. I set off one Friday evening, in early December, and it started to snow around Chester, a couple of hours later. It was coming thick and fast by the time I rolled up at the pub I was booked into. The following day, I was having lunch in a town pub after trudging through about 6" of snow, and panicking while watching the news reports of blocked roads in the north, and of the M62 being only just passable. This was my route home. Although I had only booked bed and breakfast at my pub, which was what their accommodation offered (they didn't routinely do meals) I was offered a turkey dinner, as half of a large party booked in for a Christmas meal in the upstairs dining room hadn't turned up because of the weather. This saved me turning out in the snow to try and find a meal. I was the only person staying, and the landlord seemed to have taken a liking to me.
I made sure I got away on time the next day, and steadily drove home. After my not very relaxing break. The M62 had by then been ploughed and only the fast lane was blocked. As I crossed to the Yorkshire side, the snow gradually dwindled to a light dusting. The family looked a bit odd when I said I had been worried about getting home ok, and just said, "why?".