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.
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.
