Never wanted to leave a Rita... until this one
For those who are completely in the dark (I'll give you credit if you're in another country) there is a Category 4 hurricane approaching the gulf coast right now. There are tons of stories on the web and the news right now. Here's mine.
Wednesday : Realization
My office sent out a building-wide email and an announcement that they would close on Thursday and Friday. Everyone was expected to pull loose things away from the windows, put monitors on the floors under our desk, and exercise a strict "clean desk" policy of everything out of danger of becoming a flying projectile. Whereas I hadn't even considered the idea of evacuation before, the magnitude of what was going to happen in the next three days hit like a ton of bricks.
My boyfriend and I decided to pack up that night, and take up my aunt on her offer to shelter us in her home near Jonesboro, Arkansas. We would leave in the middle of the night to avoid traffic, and I was to take the first driving shift. I packed my nonreplaceable papers and put together a weekend's worth of clothes. Sunny, my bike, is cowering in my closed bathroom where she would hopefully emerge unscathed.
Thursday : The uncalm before the storm
We thought we were geniuses for leaving at 3:30 a.m. So did everybody else. Beltway 8, Interstate 10, and any other major road we passed had become parking lots. We decided that the only way to get out of Houston was back roads. We took a crazy combination of streets: Briar Forest, Eldridge, 529, Barker Cypress, Spring Cypress, 2920, 1488, 242, College Park, and finally, we arrived at Highway 59 and essentially parked ourselves. The highest speed we reached on this road was 15 mph, but the average was under 5.
The small portion of time we spent on 59, perhaps about five miles, had taken up at least 25% of our time and didn't cover more than a finger-width of distance on the map. Cars were bailed out left and right on the roads. People were walking dogs, throwing footballs, and using nature's "facilities" right there along the side of the roads. Someone had even set up a tent, apparently not cognizant of the kind of shelter required to last through a hurricane. Those who still had gas rolled along while some of their passengers walked alongside the car or pushed it (a conservation method I'd never thought I would see). The heat was 100 degrees, but with no gas stations still vending petrol, nobody had the gall to run the air conditioning. Despite being hot, scared, and out of gas, people were generally friendly. Few people gave so much as a dirty look to their fellow motorists, and most offered friendly assistance when they saw a chance.
Once again, we turned to the backroads with a trusty map as our guide. At first, this worked beautifully. We sailed along at 60+ miles an hour with seemingly very few cars who had the same idea. We made it about 20 miles east and probably the same distance north. Then two things started to become apparent that our zig-zag plan would be foiled. First, the authorities announced on the radio that the storm could head for Beaumont, almost directly south of where we had now arrived. A mandatory evacuation was called for all of Liberty County, the one we were presently driving through. Every time we used one of our two lane roads (one in each direction) to get to an intersection, it was blocked several miles back with Beaumont-area evacuees. We didn't want to sit and waste gas on waiting.
The especially dangerous part was that gas wasn't just in short supply - it was in non-supply. Once we reached just half a tank, a luxury on those roads, we found a country road gas station to top off the tank. There were twenty two cars in line in front of us when we joined up with the gasless and the weary at the country store. They had four pumps and still offered full service. They had this situation down as well as I've ever seen. One volunteer at each pump would pump the gas and send the driver inside to pay. By the time the driver had arrived at the front of the line, probably with a handfull of oatmeal cream pies, Gatorade, and Cheetos, the volunteer would yell the total to the cashier. Never in my life have I seen a line for gas, much less a station completely out. This situation was unimaginable to me, and probably most of the other people on the roads. The unprecedented nature of it all added to the fear.
By about 1:30 p.m., after 10 hours of driving, we had hit a decision point.
Option 1: We stay in this mess, which we have no reason to believe will get any better, and try to get to Arkansas. We will be in the direct line of the storm, and possibly in our cars near Lufkin when it hit, 30 hours later. We would be out of gas, out of water, and scared. By the time the eye wall hit, scared may turn into "dead."
Option 2: We backtrack to my parents' home, northwest of Houston in the suburb of Cypress, TX. We would be well south of where we could possibly get with the continued driving, and with the uncertainty of the storm, possibly also in the direct path of the third strongest hurricane in history. We'd be with family, but probably without power (and air conditioning, and phones) for several days. We had a full tank of gas now, and we knew we could get there since it as opposite the direction that everybody else wanted to go. It was a known evil, and we chose this route.
It took us less than two hours to undo the progress of ten hours northward. We had to be careful, because even though we could get back into Houston easily, we may never make it back out 290 to their home. We chose to retrace the same steps we had taken to get out of town in the first place, making a huge loop around the north and west sides of Houston so that we were always headed inward and away from traffic. We have worried like crazy for the people stuck in their cars. We came home yesterday convinced that we had seen some faces that would not survive the weekend.
Friday : The waiting game
Aside from my dad's constant jokes about rationing, it has been rather comfortable here. I had cookie dough and pizza for dinner, and we have been studying off and on all day. My car, with an unheard of 3/4 tank of gas, is sitting safely in my dad's garage.
The news and internet reports show that within Houston, the major highways have cleared. I am honestly shocked and relieved that this happened. The talks of metro busses with water and national guard tankers with gas may have worked. They got people filled up enough to make it out of town to a place where there was more gas. Many stranded people have been scooped into shelters.
The pine trees outside my window have been rustling intermittently. At one point, I heard a strong gust of wind and glanced outside to see all of the needles on one tree pulled to the side by a the force. Even though it will be hours before Galveston sees their first drop of rain, the proverbial calm-before-the-storm has given way to an uneasy, but slow, crescendo of wind.
I expect that there will be no power here for several days, and we have taken precautions like filling the bathtubs with water and hoarding food. It will be scary, but not as horrible as it could have been. I will update more when I can, but this may not be for a while.
If you're in it, stay safe. If you're not, please pray.
Wednesday : Realization
My office sent out a building-wide email and an announcement that they would close on Thursday and Friday. Everyone was expected to pull loose things away from the windows, put monitors on the floors under our desk, and exercise a strict "clean desk" policy of everything out of danger of becoming a flying projectile. Whereas I hadn't even considered the idea of evacuation before, the magnitude of what was going to happen in the next three days hit like a ton of bricks.
My boyfriend and I decided to pack up that night, and take up my aunt on her offer to shelter us in her home near Jonesboro, Arkansas. We would leave in the middle of the night to avoid traffic, and I was to take the first driving shift. I packed my nonreplaceable papers and put together a weekend's worth of clothes. Sunny, my bike, is cowering in my closed bathroom where she would hopefully emerge unscathed.
Thursday : The uncalm before the storm
We thought we were geniuses for leaving at 3:30 a.m. So did everybody else. Beltway 8, Interstate 10, and any other major road we passed had become parking lots. We decided that the only way to get out of Houston was back roads. We took a crazy combination of streets: Briar Forest, Eldridge, 529, Barker Cypress, Spring Cypress, 2920, 1488, 242, College Park, and finally, we arrived at Highway 59 and essentially parked ourselves. The highest speed we reached on this road was 15 mph, but the average was under 5.
The small portion of time we spent on 59, perhaps about five miles, had taken up at least 25% of our time and didn't cover more than a finger-width of distance on the map. Cars were bailed out left and right on the roads. People were walking dogs, throwing footballs, and using nature's "facilities" right there along the side of the roads. Someone had even set up a tent, apparently not cognizant of the kind of shelter required to last through a hurricane. Those who still had gas rolled along while some of their passengers walked alongside the car or pushed it (a conservation method I'd never thought I would see). The heat was 100 degrees, but with no gas stations still vending petrol, nobody had the gall to run the air conditioning. Despite being hot, scared, and out of gas, people were generally friendly. Few people gave so much as a dirty look to their fellow motorists, and most offered friendly assistance when they saw a chance.
Once again, we turned to the backroads with a trusty map as our guide. At first, this worked beautifully. We sailed along at 60+ miles an hour with seemingly very few cars who had the same idea. We made it about 20 miles east and probably the same distance north. Then two things started to become apparent that our zig-zag plan would be foiled. First, the authorities announced on the radio that the storm could head for Beaumont, almost directly south of where we had now arrived. A mandatory evacuation was called for all of Liberty County, the one we were presently driving through. Every time we used one of our two lane roads (one in each direction) to get to an intersection, it was blocked several miles back with Beaumont-area evacuees. We didn't want to sit and waste gas on waiting.
The especially dangerous part was that gas wasn't just in short supply - it was in non-supply. Once we reached just half a tank, a luxury on those roads, we found a country road gas station to top off the tank. There were twenty two cars in line in front of us when we joined up with the gasless and the weary at the country store. They had four pumps and still offered full service. They had this situation down as well as I've ever seen. One volunteer at each pump would pump the gas and send the driver inside to pay. By the time the driver had arrived at the front of the line, probably with a handfull of oatmeal cream pies, Gatorade, and Cheetos, the volunteer would yell the total to the cashier. Never in my life have I seen a line for gas, much less a station completely out. This situation was unimaginable to me, and probably most of the other people on the roads. The unprecedented nature of it all added to the fear.
By about 1:30 p.m., after 10 hours of driving, we had hit a decision point.
Option 1: We stay in this mess, which we have no reason to believe will get any better, and try to get to Arkansas. We will be in the direct line of the storm, and possibly in our cars near Lufkin when it hit, 30 hours later. We would be out of gas, out of water, and scared. By the time the eye wall hit, scared may turn into "dead."
Option 2: We backtrack to my parents' home, northwest of Houston in the suburb of Cypress, TX. We would be well south of where we could possibly get with the continued driving, and with the uncertainty of the storm, possibly also in the direct path of the third strongest hurricane in history. We'd be with family, but probably without power (and air conditioning, and phones) for several days. We had a full tank of gas now, and we knew we could get there since it as opposite the direction that everybody else wanted to go. It was a known evil, and we chose this route.
It took us less than two hours to undo the progress of ten hours northward. We had to be careful, because even though we could get back into Houston easily, we may never make it back out 290 to their home. We chose to retrace the same steps we had taken to get out of town in the first place, making a huge loop around the north and west sides of Houston so that we were always headed inward and away from traffic. We have worried like crazy for the people stuck in their cars. We came home yesterday convinced that we had seen some faces that would not survive the weekend.
Friday : The waiting game
Aside from my dad's constant jokes about rationing, it has been rather comfortable here. I had cookie dough and pizza for dinner, and we have been studying off and on all day. My car, with an unheard of 3/4 tank of gas, is sitting safely in my dad's garage.
The news and internet reports show that within Houston, the major highways have cleared. I am honestly shocked and relieved that this happened. The talks of metro busses with water and national guard tankers with gas may have worked. They got people filled up enough to make it out of town to a place where there was more gas. Many stranded people have been scooped into shelters.
The pine trees outside my window have been rustling intermittently. At one point, I heard a strong gust of wind and glanced outside to see all of the needles on one tree pulled to the side by a the force. Even though it will be hours before Galveston sees their first drop of rain, the proverbial calm-before-the-storm has given way to an uneasy, but slow, crescendo of wind.
I expect that there will be no power here for several days, and we have taken precautions like filling the bathtubs with water and hoarding food. It will be scary, but not as horrible as it could have been. I will update more when I can, but this may not be for a while.
If you're in it, stay safe. If you're not, please pray.
posted by CyndyMW at
10:15 AM
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