It's a Comin....Ike's a Comin!

This may be a repeat for some of you, but it is a recap of our experience with Hurricane Rita in Sept 2005:

“Evacuating Rita” 10-5-5

To all our concerned friends and family, thank you for your generous offers of help and support surrounding the events of Hurricane Rita. I’m happy to report that we escaped unscathed and that our house remains intact. In the profound words of Oprah Winfrey to the individuals affected by Hurricane Katrina “[We] are not refugees, [we] are not victims, [we] are survivors!” And as Tom Petty so poignantly sings “You don’t have to live like a refugee.” A sentiment that we took quite literally. With that in mind, so starts our journey…

It was a day like any other, children screaming, chaos predominating, clothes needing washing, then the chief meteorologist of a major network and who is endorsed by the National Weather Association, proclaims that Hurricane Rita is headed towards the Gulf Coast with the coast south of us as the bull’s eye. With no time wasted, city officials decide that certain areas need to be evacuated. No one wanted to suffer the same fate as those poor fools in New Orleans. No one in our town was going to be plucked off a roof top or be left sitting on the interstate going to the bathroom on the frontage road or waiting for a yellow school bus to pick us up and carry us off to some sports dome slated for demolition only to sleep on a cot next to 5000 other people. Instead we’d choose to sit on the interstate in our cars without gas or air conditioning with a heat index of 110 for 28 hours. So we packed the essential items as itemized by the news media; important documents, wedding photos, non-perishable items, then we boarded up the house, packed up the 3 kids plus 4 bonus neighbor kids and like 2 million other city dwellers, we quickly headed for dry land.

Before we could begin our trek we had one important stop to make. We weaved through the neighborhoods to my brother house and gathered him, his wife, my nephew, my mom, the 12 year old Rottweiler named Isaac and about a dozen undocumented Mexicans (I’m Mexican too, so I can say that) and headed west. We were like pioneers in their covered wagons (but in our minivans, pick-ups and SUV’s). We didn’t know where we were going, but we had enough peanut butter, canned ravioli and batteries to last us till Armageddon.

Thinking I could outsmart the masses, I decided to take the ‘backroads’. The first 20 minutes were smooth sailing. Then we hit traffic. Obviously, I wasn’t the only clever one in the metropolitan area. About every 45 minutes (equal to 3 miles) we’d accelerate to about 25 mph for 3 miles. Every gas station we passed was like a ghost town. It was very eerie, like a scene out of a Mad Max movie. Occasionally we’d see a line of cars waiting at a gas station for a pump to open once it received fuel. The only problem was that a gas tanker would have to have been air lifted into the gas station to by pass the traffic.

About 4 hours into the odyssey, we stopped on the side of the road to let the 8 + kids run around and to stretch our legs. More accurately, I had pulled into a gravel road and intentionally ignored a sign that read ‘Private Property.’ I figured it didn’t say ‘keep out’ so it was more like a proclamation than a warning. Besides, it was a dirt road for as far as the eye could see, so I thought any chances of human life were fairly far removed. As you will later learn, I figured wrong. In the meantime, a few people found some bushes that looked dry and discretely watered them. We hoisted Isaac out of the back of the car and let him sniff the fresh country air. While we were busy eating our PB & J’s and drinking our bottled water (the stock piling actually did come in handy!) a pick-up came driving up the dirt road. It stopped in front of us and out stepped two very disgruntled country gentlemen, Pops and Jr. Pops claims that Isaac (as you recall, the geriatric dog with an artificial hip and cataracts so thick you can see your reflection) spooked their horse. Needless to say, we packed up our happy picnic and got the hell out of Dodge!

About 4 hrs later, at midnight, (8 hours from the start of our journey and 120 miles later) we came crawling into small town USA. Our original destination, some 350 miles north of us had long been abandoned. We would have gotten there long after Rita had made landfall or the DPS would have found our desiccated carcasses on the side of the road. So at the last minute we made a call to some friends in the small town and made a desperate plea; would they be willing to house some 30 odd people (mostly complete strangers) and one beast? How could they resist such a request? Foolishly, they said yes!

Well, our kind hosts, who, to preserve their privacy and anonymity, I will call Howard Johnson and his wife La Quinta, live on about 35 acres with livestock, tractors, a fishing hole, a jungle gym better than most playground’s, a swimming pool and a 5’ flat screen TV. Suddenly this was no longer a flight for personal safety, this was vacation at a 5 star bed and breakfast! Even Isaac was in dog heaven, acres and acres of territory to mark and as a special bonus, all the cow dung a dog could eat (apparently cow excrement is a delicacy). The highlight of our stay was grilling grain fed cattle raised by our hosts and feasting on it in the form of burgers, sausages and steaks (sorry all you PETA people, but Daisy and her pals tasted good)! Basically, by the time Sunday rolled around, Howard and La Quinta had to pack our bags for us and push us out the door!

So, all in all, we faired quite nicely. Even the trip home was a breeze. It took the people at Sonic Burger longer to bring us our order than it did to drive home. When we finally pulled into our driveway, our house was still standing and no trees had fallen over. As a matter of fact, our house never even lost power. So, we took the boards off the windows, returned the neighbor kids to their mother and dug a shelter to store our provisions.

So, once again, thank you to all of our friends and family who were so concerned about us and who made offers to house us. We know who our true friends are! So, the next time you all have to evacuate and you need somewhere to stay, remember you have friends, Howard Johnson and his wife La Quinta who would love to have you come and stay at the official Hurricane Rita Evacuation Center!

Still dry,

The Family

So, this time, as Ike approaches, we are hunkering down and hoping for the best. I'll let you all know how we fare on the other side!