Now That’s A Big Haboob

    Last week I complained to Jeff that I had nothing to blog about.  Nothing.  With the kids gone it seems that life is a tad dull around here.  Life was a tad dull I should say.

     Take a look at this.

     If you live in a quaint little state with things like trees and grass you might never have seen something like this.  I see them somewhat frequently, but of course I live in a state with rocks and cacti.  I’ve always ignored them.

     I’ve always ignored them because until Saturday I’ve never looked out the windshield to see a sight like this before me.

 

     Saturday I felt like I was living in an episode of the Twilight Zone.  First, Jeff, Jayce, Cassidy and I were caught in a dust storm (technically called a haboob – I kid you not, look it up), the likes of which I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams.  A bit later that afternoon I held my breath and said a quick prayer that our car wouldn’t be blown to smitherines in a fiery ball of flame.  Later still I came a heartbeat away from eating in an establishment called “RESTAURANT.”  Then of course came driving on I-10.  No big deal you might think, thousands of people drive on I-10 every day.  True.  But in our particular case we were the only car on I-10 thanks in part to a misguided patrolmen in Deming, New Mexico, who allowed us entrance in spite of the fact that the Interstate was closed.  So, of course, when we happened upon a tow truck in the middle of the Interstate loading up the remains of an overturned semi truck it wasn’t all that surprising.  Not nearly as surprising as the fact that hours later I would gladly have purchased a glass of wine from, ahem, a Pizza Hut (boxed probably) if not for the fact that they didn’t have any.  Why it was on the menu is beyond me but whatever.  And as if all that weren’t enough, toss in a call to 911 and then we can call it a day.

     And all the while all I could think was I’m so blogging this. 

     Saturday we made the 3.5 hour drive to pick up Cassidy (she doesn’t stay at Dad camp as long as her sisters do).  We were about an hour out when I noticed the sky turning that eerie shade of midnight blue that precedes a summer thunderstorm.  

     The foreboding sky produced only a few drops of rain and a bolt or two of lightening though and we arrived at the Dairy Queen parking lot to find Cassidy (and her dad of course) waiting.  Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged and within thirty minutes we were back on the road headed home, this time with Cass in tow.

     Not twenty minutes into the trip a really strange fog began to creep across the road in front of us.  Strange because it wasn’t transparent like the fog I’m used to in California and it moved in sheets.  As we pressed forward I realized what the “fog” was.  Dust.  Lots and lots of dust.  At first it was thin and penetrable, much like fog, and as we drove a bit further it seemed we had left the worst behind.

     A few miles down the road it started again, much like the first cloud we passed through.  It moved across the highway in waves.  Only this time it didn’t let up.  When visibility became next to nill we slowed way down and within a minute we were enveloped in a thick dust cloud.  If you’ve never visited the desert you might have a hard time fathoming what a cloud of dust might be like.  Say a school bus crosses your path and you have to pass through the exhaust in its wake.  You might shut off your vents for a minute, but other than that you just pass through the cloud right?  Not so with dust storms.  Dust storms are more like rain in that they cover a massive expanse of area and they don ‘t dissipate, at least not like an exhaust cloud does.

     Until yesterday I’d never seen a dust storm.  And if I never see one again it will be too soon.  This particular storm covered roughly forty miles of highway.  Thank God we were on a little shortcut highway and not the interstate.  We sort of inched our way along, frequently coming to a dead stop because visibility was zero.  And I really mean zero.  Looking up all I could see was dust, no sky.  At times we could see the headlights of the pick-up truck behind us but other times the best we could do was lay on the horn and hope that any other motorists would hear us because they certainly wouldn’t have been able to see us.  We formed an impromptu convoy with a handful of cars and it actually provided some degree of comfort because we knew that there was a car in front of us and one behind us and so at least someone wouldn’t come smashing into us.  When the wind would whip up really hard we’d have to stop completely and I was just convinced that a cow or something was going to smash through our windshield, having been picked up by what I thought were tornado like winds.  But more than anything else the sitting duck factor was the scariest.  At those times when we had to come to a dead halt in the middle of the road my heart raced with the fear that we’d be the fourth or fifth in a multi car pileup. 

     When we finally made it through we found that the interstate that serves as our only route home was closed.  So too was the highway we’d just come off of; law enforcement vehicles formed barricades to block the oncoming traffic.  So with nothing better to do we drove around a little podunk town in New Mexico whose claim to fame is multiple roadside fireworks stands. 

     Guess what happened next.

     If you guessed that the heavens opened up and spit a wrath of hail upon the Earth then you’re right.

     That left us driving around frantically trying to find an overhang that would shelter our car.  All the other stranded motorists beat us to the best spots though and we couldn’t do much better than to squeeze in between two semi trucks and use them for cover.   

     Once the hail stopped Jeff punched a bunch of stuff into our handy dandy GPS and figured out a route that would take us about ten miles down the road and give us a head-start on all those semi trucks that were waiting for the Interstate to open back up.  On the way there we drove through a rather large puddle and as the water splashed up both Jeff and I immediately smelled gas.  As in gasoline.  As in the flammable stuff that I would rather my children not inhale for fear of cancerous fumes invading thier bodies.  Come to think of it I’d really rather they not be in a car reeking of gasoline on the off chance that said car might suddenly burst into a ball of flames.

     Jeff, equally concerned about the ball of flames bit, pulled the car over on a back road in front of the house they borrowed when they were shooting Deliverance.  He got out and popped the hood of the car.  Meanwhile I rolled down the car windows so as to let the fumes escape.  The rain and wind that whipped through the car was expected but I did sort of stop and scratch my head when I heard a rooster crowing like crazy.  Roosters in New Mexico, go figure.

     Anyway after a brief inspection Jeff reasoned that we’d driven through some gasoline in the big puddle and the remnants of it burning off of the engine was what we smelled.  Either that or the dust storm had clogged our air filter so that the fumes would have nowhere but back into the car to go and we’d all drift off into a nice carbon monoxide induced nap.  Whichever.

     I think I’m going to cut here and tell you about the rest later because I fear this post is getting way too long and I might lose you, my valued reader, to a boredom induced nap.  To be continued though.  Promise.