Evacuation

11:44am

I'm sitting in our condo on Pensacola Beach, safe and sound. A lot has happened since yesterday. A LOT!

= = = = = = = =
(Events of yesterday)

5:00pm: Our plane arrives in New Orleans. On our drive home from the airport, our friends give us storm updates. City officials made announcements as soon as the Hurricane Center updated their information on Gustav at 4pm. Something they (i.e., city officials) said frightened our friends (and though they won't admit it, frightened is the right word), so Steve and I decided that it was time to evacuate. These are the same resilient (and wonderful) friends who waited until the last minute to evacuate for Katrina and who had planned on staying in the city for this storm. If they were now unnerved by the progress of Gustav, then maybe I needed to change my plans as well. My resting heart rate must have gone a very healthy 60 to 110. When we got home, we immediately started gathering stuff and packing the SUV, using the list I made yesterday. In my heightened state of anxiety, that list was a godsend.

7:30pm: We called to check the traffic report and we got a recording. On this recording, I distinctly heard, "Traffic on I-10 headed east is clear." With the SUV loaded, Chip, Dale, and I pulled out of our driveway. I waved at Steve standing on the front steps of the house, and we started our evacuation. Steve is part of the emergency response team at his hospital, so he stayed behind. There are very few cars on the road. I was headed to our condo in Pensacola, Florida, a three hour drive.

7:40pm: I get on the Interstate and discover that we're at a complete stop. I-10 East is a parking lot. I hoped, no, I prayed, that the reason the recording (for traffic reports) had not been updated, was because the dimwit who is supposed to keep it updated, panicked, and decided to evacuate himself. That is possibly the only reason for which I could forgive him.

8:00pm: I listen to Mayor Ray Nagin's press conference on the radio, during which he calls Hurricane Gustav, "The mother of all storms," and "The storm of the century." Bold statements. It is now a Category 4 storm and when it enters the Gulf of Mexico, it could easily become a Category 5, the most dangerous. The Mayor has issued a mandatory evacuation tomorrow for the west bank of New Orleans at 8am and at noon for the east bank. We live on the east bank of the city.

11:30pm: I enter Slidell, Louisiana, located 35 miles east of New Orleans, four hours later, a trip that would normally take about half an hour. It took me four hours! What kept me going was the hope that traffic would ease once we got past the I-10/I-12/I-59 intersection on the east side of Slidell. I figured most people would head north into Mississippi on I-59 thereby easing the misery, as I continued my journey east. But as I approach that intersection, an announcement on the radio completely shatters that hope. Here is the announcement: "I-10 East is closed at the Moss Point exit in Mississippi. Traffic is backed up from the Mobile Tunnel all the way to the Alabama-Mississippi state line." Moss Point is east the I-10/I-12/I-59 intersection. My heart sank, but I was determined. I would not succumb. I made my way pass the intersection, and as expected, traffic was still heavy.

1:30am: Yes, you read it correctly, that is one thirty in the morning, now six hours since I started my journey. The gauge told me that I had used about 1/3 of a tank a gas (Steve filled up the tank several days ago). I've heard of cars running out of gas along the interstate on past evacuations. With traffic going as slow as it was and also not knowing what conditions were like ahead of me, I decided to pull off the road, to try to get gas. There were two gas stations listed on the signs at the exit. The first station was closed. I saw plastic bags wrapped around the pumps. Not a good sign, I thought. As I pulled up to the second station, I saw a chaotic mess of cars, all waiting to get gas. There were no obvious lines. People were pulling in front of each other. Horns were honking. Drivers were gesturing, and I could get no closer than about 50 feet to the nearest pump. I looked at my gauge again. Still two-third's full. I crossed my fingers, said a little prayer, and I decided that that would have to get me to my final destination. I pulled back into traffic on I-10.

2:30am: After listening to people calling in to a radio show giving traffic updates, I decided to get off I-10 and head for Highway 90 East. Some callers reported traveling "60 miles an hour all the way to Mobile." After pulling off the interstate, I saw a gas station and lo' and behold, there were no lines. My first thought was that maybe the pumps were empty because they ran out of gas (which is what happened at gas stations after Katrina). But that wasn't the case. I topped off my tank and the boys (Chip and Dale) and I "refreshed" ourselves. I made it to Highway 90. Except for the first few miles where traffic inched along no faster than five miles an hour, I was indeed able to go 60 and sometimes 70 miles an hour all the way to Mobile, Alabama. Eventually, I managed to get back on I-10 East.

5:30am: Ten hours since I began my journey, I make the turn to pull onto condo property. I look up at the sky and I notice a lighter hue begins to appear just above the horizon. I pull into the driveway of our condo and I begin to unload the SUV.

6:15am: The dogs are happy. I'm happy. It's time for sleep. I crawl into bed.

9:30am: I wake up, fix breakfast, and check the latest reports.

= = = = = = = = (Today)

That's what happened overnight. The last time I pulled an all-nighter was in college. Of all the classes that I've taken, for which to pull an all-nighter, I had my first and only experience for Intermediate Photography.

Contraflow has been instituted. As a result, I-10, east of I-59, is closed. Had I left after contraflow was instituted, I would not have been able to make the trip I made last night. I'm glad to be where I am now.

I received a call from our Clinic Manager. There will be no work on Tuesday. Yippee! But, I expected that. We may be expected to go back to work on Wednesday however. Boo!

Here is the 1pm projection map for Hurricane Gustav. If you can see the two small red "x's" I placed on the map, the one on the left represents New Orleans and the one on the right is where I am now, on Pensacola Beach. Unless Gustav decides to turn east, I should be fine.


Though I have the dogs to keep me company, it's kind of quiet here. I'm sitting at a table near the large glass windows overlooking the beach and the Gulf of Mexico. The sun finds a way to reach through the clouds that are noticeably moving in a northeasterly direction. I can see people on the beach with some playing in the water. The sounds of children playing drifts up from the pool below the balcony. When I entered Pensacola Beach last night, I saw yellow flags posted (yellow means caution), but just now, I saw the beach patrol drive by with a red flag attached to the back (red means dangerous conditions). Gustav is coming.

I'm anxiously waiting for a couple of friends from New Orleans to join me at the condo.

1:30pm

Steve called to tell me that he is leaving the house, to go the hospital. He sent the picture below before driving off in my Prius. Three neighbors are staying throughout the storm. I hope they all do well.

Trip-tus Interruptus

Noon

We got word that New Orleans may initiate contraflow tomorrow morning between 4-6am. Once that happens, all flights going into New Orleans will, more than likely, be canceled. So, we've decided to fly back home today. Contraflow is a term used to describe a traffic pattern where all lanes of the Interstate lead out of New Orleans; no cars are allowed to enter New Orleans on the Interstate (I-10 East and I-10 West and the Causeway leading north). Although you could use back roads to get from the airport to our house, we need to get home and get back to our dogs, Chip and Dale, before contraflow is initiated.

So, Gustav ruined our weekend plans after all. We're not going to the game. Steve is going to give his game tickets to his brother. The projected path places Gustav landfall farther west and the computer models agree. If this happens, New Orleans should get tropical storm force winds and rain, conditions that we experience at least once a year.

The city's response to the threat of Gustav has been efficient, though it may be a little bit of an over-reaction. As much of an inconvenience it will be, I'll admit that the city's response is good.

Later, on the plane

There are a lot of American Red Cross workers and National Guardsmen aboard our flight to New Orleans. As we approach New Orleans, I can see traffic on the interstate packed with cars, all headed away from the city.

After landing, we walked by several groups of Federal Marshals, two of which were carrying automatic rifles, inside the airport. That was a little frightening to see. The parking garage was full. People had parked illegally, blocking some of the paths.

The Trip

2:30pm

I'm sitting at the airport waiting to board a flight to Atlanta, wondering, "What the h*ll are we doing here?"

Since my last post yesterday, Bush (i.e., President) has declared a state of emergency in Louisiana; this is a standard declaration for situations like this. The city's government offices will close today. The Post Office announced that they will stop delivering mail soon, but they didn't say when. Three thousand National Guardsmen have been deployed to the New Orleans area, with another 1500 expected. The SPCA ("animal shelter") has evacuated animals, for which I am so glad. Most significant for us, was the announcement that the airport, which I now occupy, may close tomorrow night.

The projections continue to put Gustav somewhere along the coast of Louisiana. Residents are starting to evacuate New Orleans. A friend of ours reported that traffic heading west along I-10 out of New Orleans was congested. The airport is west of New Orleans, so we had to take a back road to get here.

Again, our original plans for the weekend included flying out of New Orleans today, watching the football game tomorrow, and flying back to New Orleans on Sunday. Upon learning of the possible closure of the airport tomorrow, we're discussing alternate plans. There was some disagreement between Steve and I as we discussed the various options, but in the end we decided to proceed with our flight to Atlanta. We will continue to monitor the situation in the Caribbean and then decide if we need to fly back tomorrow, a day early. We're looking at this excursion as a one-day getaway to Atlanta, a night-out before we have to take become serious. So, the game has taken a backseat to other more pressing issues.

This morning I packed a bag for this trip. I decided not to gather things, as I had originally planned, which I would need for evacuation. It's a little depressing, packing to leave our house, knowing that there's a possibility, as minute as it may be, that the city may be different when I return. Instead, I made a list of things I wanted to take so when we got back. I would use the list to pack. Surprisingly, my list was short. I check it a few times, making sure I didn't forget anything. It included only the most essential items that I, and the dogs, would need during our exile. Three years ago as I waited for the post-Katrina situation to improve, I regretted not evacuating with a whole list of things, objects, which in retrospect, I would never really need. This regret led to unnecessary anxiety. I suppose that's why the list I made seemed so short; it included only the necessities.

As we drove away from the house (on our way to the airport), I couldn't keep a certain thought from entering my mind: 'Will I ever see this house again?' A trite thought? An overused expression? Of course. Still, it was a legitimate question, especially given the history of New Orleans and one particular storm. I've long ago learned that to live in New Orleans, you have to accept these uncertainties.

~ Later, on the plane ~

I'm now sitting on the plane and we're halfway to Atlanta. We have no idea what to expect tomorrow. Steve and I are are still trying to decide whether or not we made the right decision by leaving New Orleans.

11:00pm

We're in Atlanta. We're at the hotel in a part of town called Buckhead. We finished a wonderful meal with Steve's cousin, who lives in a cubicle, and who has hinted at having the ability to make a certain Asian-inspired sauce. We also had the pleasure of dining with his girlfriend, who is from a small town in Iowa and who wanted the world to know that she was conceived in the seventies. The meal was at a Thai restaurant called Nan. It was very good.

The latest five day projection shows Gutav still aimed at the central Louisiana coast, but the computer models are starting to show a shift to the west, which for us, is good news.

We're still trying to find a way to go to the game tomorrow night. The one and only problem is the possibility of not being able to get back home once they close the airport. We just don't know when that will happen. To keep our minds off that thought, we went to the hotel lounge. There was a hoard of people decked out in Crimson and White (Alabama fans) and Orange (Clemson fans). A band played mostly jazz, but at one point they started playing Hold That Tiger (not sure if this is the title of the song) for the Tiger fans and Sweet Home Alabama for the Crimson Tide fans. I almost blurted out, "Roll Tide Roll" while pumping my fist, up in the air, along with the beat. Like I said, I almost did it, but I restrained myself and I took another sip of my Cape Cod trying to suppress a smile. Steve, however, sat quietly in his chair, sedate. Sometimes I wonder why I, who supports Notre Dame primarily, show more spirit for Alabama football than he, a native of the state, does.

As we head to bed, I feel pretty good about the storm. With all the hubbub, I almost forgot that today is the third anniversary of Katrina. In New Orleans, they buried the last of the unidentified bodies found in Katrina's wake. On this day, three years later, Steve and I find ourselves in a similar situation and confronting similar questions. I can't say that life is boring.

Calmer, But Still Wary

I woke up this morning and the first thing I did was to check the weather maps online to see where Gustav was and where it was headed. Meanwhile, Chip and Dale, tapped their nails against the bottom of their crates, as though saying, 'Umm, excuse me, I need to go outside.'

Most of the computer models have the storm hitting the coast west of New Orleans now. This could still be bad for our city. If it hits along the central Louisiana coast, we will get slammed by the more powerful side of the storm. Basically what I take away from this latest report is that no one really knows, at this point, where the storm will hit. Also, that New Orleans is still within the cone of probability.

Yesterday afternoon, our Clinic Manager at work, called a meeting to discuss hurricane preparations. The head honchos in New Orleans plan to meet twice a day to review the situation and any decisions that are made will then trickle down the chain of command, until is finally reaches me. So, if I have to evacuate, I'm covered. I like that we're on top of things.

In a turn of events, today I feel somewhat calm compared to yesterday. But, people at work are noticeably unnerved. At least two people that I've spoken with, have booked hotels farther inland (Montgomery, AL and Jackson, MS) and they plan to evacuate this weekend regardless of where the storm hits. Yesterday, these same people were walking around the clinic as though they were blissfully unaware of the approaching storm. But, it's good to see that people are playing it safe.

12:45pm

We completed our weekly system-wide Medicine meeting and one statement that grabbed my attention is the following:

We tried to get rooms for our employees, but as of this morning, we found out that there are no hotel rooms available anywhere in the states of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama.

I also saw a truck deliver palettes of bottled water to our clinic and what I presumed were boxes of non-perishable food. If there is a mandatory evacuation, our clinic will have three federal police officers guarding the facility. I assumed the supplies are for them.

From the Times-Picayune, I learned that the transit system in the city of New Orleans will cease operations "indefinately" starting tomorrow evening. Indefinately?

It sounds like everyone is taking the threat of Gustav seriously. Yet, I still feel calm. Should I be more nervous than I am now?

To add more fuel to the fire, there is another threat on the horizon. Hanna, another storm, is in Atlantic right now, but the long-range forecast has the storm tracking across the state of Florida, which is sort of what Katrina did three years ago. Hanna is already a stronger storm than Gustav was at the same stage, so the chance that it will be more dangerous in the coming days is worrisome. We have a lot to watch out for over the next couple of weeks.

The Morning Paper

7:30am:

My usual weekday morning ritual is to walk Dale, then to walk Chip, in the wee hours of the morning. Today, as Chip and I walked up the sidewalk to the front of the house, lit only by the bright lights above our door, I picked up the newspaper. It had been thrown on top of one of my flower beds further damaging the tender plants already withering from the summer heat. Chip stopped at the doorway waiting for the signal from me, that it was okay to enter. I said, "Go," and he raced in, the chain around his neck rattling and his paws thumping against the wooden floor. I wondered if Steve could hear this racket upstairs.

I walked over to his crate, where he sat patiently, and I gave him a kiss, like I always do (for being good) and I removed his collar. He jumped into his crate and he started devouring the food I had already placed there for him. As soon I shut the gate, Dale started jumping up and down, on queue, in his crate, asking to be set free. I let him out and as part of his morning routine, he exploded out of the gate, ran twice around the dining room table, and in a blur, he bounded up the staircase to the bedroom. This scene always reminds me of a greyhound race. I'm not sure how this routine started, but Dale loves it.

So, everything was routine up to this point. Nothing was unusual until I unfolded the paper and read the headlines of the Times-Picayune, the newspaper in New Orleans. It said something to the effect of, "Evacuation may start as early as Friday." Immediately I felt a surge of adrenaline course through my body, the chemical causing the walls of the blood vessels on the side of my head to throb and it caused my heart to throw itself repeatedly against my chest in rebellion. Since Hurricane Katrina, the imaginary latch which secures the gates holding my body's supply of adrenaline has weakened considerably. At the mere mention of the words, 'storm in the Atlantic,' the latch seems to melt away, as though the gate itself is seeking cover, evacuating before the storm, if you will.

We first learned about Gustav two days ago when one of Steve's brothers, called Steve and told him that another storm was brewing in the Atlantic (Tropical Storm Faye). Faye is still affecting parts of the southeastern parts of the country. Since then, we've been tracking Gustav's path. Several times a day, I'll check various websites, comparing the projected paths. With each successive prediction, I find more and more computer models that include southeast Louisiana in its cone of probability.

The lead story in the paper mentioned that our Governor, Bobby Jindal, could declare a state of emergency, as early as tomorrow. This would allow assisted evacuations to begin Friday. If he does make this declaration, you can bet people in New Orleans will begin evacuating Friday evening. The paper predicts we'll start to feel the winds from the outer bands sometime on Sunday.

Steve and I talked about this event as we got ready for work. Our current plans, not storm-related, is to fly up to Atlanta on Friday to kick-off the college football seaon. We plan to watch the game between Alabama and Clemson on Saturday, and return home on Sunday. Gustav, we now realize, could throw a wrench into our weekend getaway plans.

If Kim, the woman who watches Chip and Dale whenever we go out of town, decides to evacuate early, then that puts us in a real bind. We need her to watch the dogs until we get back on Sunday around noon. Steve is going to talk to Kim to see what she plans to do.

The other issue is the airline. At what point do the airlines decide that they will start to cancel flights into New Orleans due to the approaching storm. Will they be more eager to pull the trigger and stop flights earlier than normal, knowing the history of New Orleans and Katrina? If this happens, will we be stranded in Atlanta on Sunday? The current five-day projection shows the storm sitting 250 miles south of New Orleans on Monday at 2am, in the middle of the Gulf. That would mean that the storm would hit the coast Monday night or Tuesday morning.


As much as I hate to throw the word, uncertainty, around again since it had so much significance after Katrina in our city, that's exactly what we face now, uncertainty.

We'll know more over the next day or two. So until a decision is made on all fronts, Chip, Dale, and I will continue our daily 5:20am jaunts through the neighborhood, and Steve will continue sleeping-in until he can no longer stand the racket --- feet and paws pounding the floor, barking, howling --- that the three of us make as we start our day.


12:10pm:

I just spoke with Steve. He says that Kim, the woman who watches our dogs, says that unless its a Category 5 storm headed straight for New Orleans, they are not going to evacuate. That takes care of one of our concerns. Chip and Dale will be well cared for while we're gone. Regarding the question about the airline, Steve said he would call Delta to see if we could fly home earlier on Sunday. We also discussed possible places to evacuate in case we have to. It all depends on where the storm hits, but the possibilites include our condo in Pensacola, Steve's parent's house in Birmingham, or Steve's office. Of course, the dogs will accompany me wherever we go. Ever so galant, Steve volunteered to stay at East Jeff (the hospital where he works) in case of a mandatory evacuation.

The latest update to the computer models shows a wider dispersion of possible paths for Gustav, which is good news. It could hit anywhere between Houston and Pensacola. So, as of this point, I can say with some relief, Atlanta here we come. I'll be decked out in crimson, waving my crimson and white shaker, being as obnoxious as I can. I would love to sing that song, Rammer Jammer, as the seconds tick off in Alabama's favor. I love being obnoxious at away games. It's fun.

10:10pm



The following is taken from the Times-Picayune, printed yesterday:

Just two days before the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina's onslaught
on the New Orleans area and the ensuing levee breaks, Gov. Bobby Jindal
declared a pre-storm state of emergency Wednesday, announcing the
mobilization of 3,000 National Guard troops with as many 5,000 call-ups
possible depending on the course of the storm. Gustav weakened Tuesday night
as it moved across Haiti, but was expected to regain hurricane strength by
today.

New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin came home early from the Democratic
National Convention to help the city prepare. Jindal declared a state of
emergency Wednesday, which could begin an evacuation process.