The Washington Trip

Welcome to Friday Letter #81. Fortunately, we’re alive and well and back home to produce it.

*PICTURE CAPTIONS:

Tacoma Narrows Bridge;
Trucks lined up at MP 68 on I-5 north of Portland;
flooded barn somewhere near Bucoda;
Tom & Ben show their MPB;
Crew of well-wishers and participants for Ben's retirement ceremony;
Tom leading invocation;
Matthew Benjamin Hodge;
Celebration party participants Tom, Laura, Jaye, Ben, Annette, Brittany

Highway hazards

We didn’t think we were going to make it.

We were 100 miles south of Bremerton, Washington, on our way to attend a ceremony marking the climax of son Ben’s 20-year career in the U.S. Navy.

Suddenly a lighted sign appeared at the side of the road – “I-5 closed from Mile Marker 68 to 88 ahead.”

Laura asked, “Tom, what does that mean?!” We soon found out it meant just exactly what it said.

Floodwaters had begun flowing over the interstate; it wasn’t safe to drive any further north. The National Guard was there to enforce the closure. They meant business.

Wyoming winter

Our route had been fraught with hazards since the beginning. Just over 30 miles northwest of Laramie we encountered a lighted sign: “Warning. High Wind.”

The moment I kicked off the speed control, the wind hit, a sudden gust, maybe in excess of 80 miles per hour.

With skilled driving and sheer luck, we didn’t run off the road. I slowed to 45.

Soon, we came upon a wrecked tractor-trailer, tipped to its right side on top of a bridge, a recent crash judging from the fact the lights were still on. There was no police presence. The trailer looked to us as though it had burned – but this may have been black road grime stuck to the underside.

It was spooky. But then the wind began picking up roadside snow accumulations, so we had high wind and low visibility. Then came the black ice. Ford certainly makes a nice traction control system; without it we would have been goners.

There was another truck wreck a little further on. This one was in the median, having come off the southeast-bound lane, and had tipped to the driver side. There was a policeman there; it didn’t look pretty.

I called our friend at the Springs Motel in Rock Springs to report we’d be late. She warned us about black ice at Point of Rocks; our thanks to her.

Conditions were much the same the next day, although once we got into Idaho the wind went down some. Some. The highway was treacherous through Pendleton and over the pass to the Columbia River. Deep snow, lots of moisture.

By the time we got into Washington and began dealing with the flood, we had pretty much had the course.

We were numbed by the news north of Portland. Already fully fatigued, we couldn’t even drum up a sarcastic “What next?”

We drove to a convenience store at Mile Marker 68 and parked. At that point, we hoped for the best. Perhaps the highway would open again soon.

In the meantime, we decided to drive around a little, hoping to find a back way which would lead us to Bremerton. No dice. There were volunteer firemen everywhere, manning road closure barricades. It was dark. It was raining. We were unfamiliar with the territory.

So we went back to the convenience store and parked again. Knowing no alternative at this point, we leaned the seats back in our rental car and went to “bed” for the night.

I slept fitfully, waking at times to observe the growing number of “neighbors” parked in the vicinity. There were a few passenger cars, but parking space up and down the side road was eventually filled with more than 700 tractor-trailers. We were told there were similar numbers of highway rigs parked at interchanges south of us.

At dawn, we found a radio station broadcasting weather information and school and highway closures.

I-5? It won’t be re-opened for four days, the announcer said. Ben’s ceremony was scheduled for the next day. We ruefully made the decision to head back south to Portland, to head home without seeing Ben and other family members gathering there.

We called Ben to report our decision. Laura cried. I got out of the car to tell our “neighbor” we were giving up. The neighbor, our new friend who was being delayed from returning to work in Seattle, suddenly got out of his car.

This man who barely knew us reached up and grasped me by the shoulders. He said, “I strongly urge you to make one more attempt to get to Bremerton. It’s important that you be there,” he said.

So we waved goodbye and headed out on back roads. At several points, volunteers stopped us – but happily provided route suggestions and landmarks so we could work our way north.

Poking around trying to escape, we visited the little tiny towns of Bucoda, Onalaska, Adna, Napavine, Rochester and Fords Prairie as well as the bigger burgs of Centralia and Chehalis.

Eventually, we came in sight of I-5 again and guess what? Trucks were on that road heading north! After Mile Marker 88 at Grand Mound, we were free!

So we called Ben back and said we were coming after all. Twenty miles on the interstate cost us about 50 miles and two and a half hours on the back roads – but we got out.

Look for the story of the ceremony itself another time. I’m still tired.

Word of the week: Inundate. Latin, inundatus, or inundare, to move in waves. It means to flood, to overcome, to deluge, to overflow or overwhelm. We were pretty much overcome in Washington, though our little rental car never swam anywhere at all.

Next week’s word: Watch.

Gripes? Complaints? Whines? or Comments? Adoration? Puppy love? Reciprocal rant? Feel free to express yourself in the comments below!