Getting to Texas, Continued

I was focused on driving, and I didn't bother to check the map for my exit towards Texarkana. I cruised right past the Route 30 exit and didn't stop until I needed gas. At the gas station, about 60 miles to the West of Little Rock, I checked the map on the wall. I felt ill when I discovered my mistake. Normally, this would cost only about 2 hours, but since traffic was tied up and slow due to accidents and the ice, it was a nearly 5-hour mistake. I really kicked myself for this one. I turned around and got underway towards Route 30, cursing myself the whole way.

On this stretch of road, I witnessed something spectacular. A Geo Tracker was driving ahead of me, and it got out of shape, sliding the rear side to side. I immediately got off the gas and made some space. When I saw the brake lights come on, I let out a groan -- this person didn't know how to drive on ice. The car whipped around and did a complete 360, and shot off the side of the road, into the ditch, where it rolled up onto the roof, then back onto it's wheels. I stopped and approached the Tracker. I could see the middle-aged woman clinging to the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. I asked her if she was OK, and she made a guttural noise and shook her head affirmatively. I asked if there was anyone else in the car -- more grunting and a negative head shake. I assessed the damage to the vehicle, and it suffered only minor damage - a smashed drivers mirror, some wrinkled sheet metal and a flat tire, not even a broken window. Soon someone else pulled up, offering to help. By this time, the driver had regained her power of speech, and declined our offer to put on the spare tire. She kept saying "No, I just want a tow truck." She was very shaken!

Just South of Little Rock, the terrain becomes slightly hilly. These hills were enough to wreak havoc on 18-Wheelers. Heavily laden, they couldn't get enough traction to go up the hills. If one tractor-trailer stops on a hill, it's bad. If two stop on a hill, they completely block the flow of traffic. People, being fundamentally stupid, approach the stopped truck -- in the middle of the hill -- and even if the truck manages to get moving, they can't go anywhere because they stopped on the face of a hill! On the CB, truck drivers are going wild discussing the ignorance of some car drivers.

After hours of just sitting, waiting for the road to open, I creep up to a level spot on the shoulder, across which is a motel. I must have sat there for half an hour, waiting and eyeing the motel. The tension gets to me, and I risk crossing the median to the motel. I clearly start a trend -- the motel lobby is full of motorists seeking asylum within minutes.

Even though it's only 7:30 in the evening, I'm exhausted. I watch some cheesy movie on HBO and sack out for the night in the freezing cold cinderblock room. The Weather Channel predicts more ice overnight. Despondent, I sleep restlessly. In the morning, I find that the Weather Channel was spot-on: the world is candy coated and shiny.



It takes me no less than 30 minutes to hack my way into my car and chip off the half-inch of ice that built up on it overnight. I am determined to make some forward progress -- if nothing else, to get to another motel because this one sucks.

On the road, I find the driving to be fine -- traction isn't terribly bad, and I can manage a solid 30 miles an hour with adequate control. Unfortunately, I only get about 20 miles before I traffic stops again. Another big rig is blocking the highway. I sit for about an hour and a half, and nothing is moving. I size up the shoulder for a crossing, and think I have spotted a fairly flat spot where I can get to the access road and return to the previous exit, where there are several motels and a Waffle House. I let the clutch out and start building up speed. When I reach the place I'd chosen to cross, it was actually a pretty deep ditch -- the glare ice and gray light have tricked my depth perception. I accelerated up the hill, and finally found a spot that looked decent. Notching the trans up a gear, I turned off the pavement and accelerated harder. I briefly think I have enough momentum to carry me up the hill, but when the trailer drops into the ditch, it becomes clear that I don't. Almost to the top, I come to a halt, wheels slinging mud into the sky. I tried several things, including unhitching the trailer, but only managed to get more stuck. Some Good Ole Boys in a ratty Toyota pick'm up truck pulled me and the trailer out for $40. I was OK with this because it meant I could head back to what would hopefully be a warm room.

I check into the Hot Springs branch of the friendly EconoLodge and unpack my stuff. I head over to the Waffle House and eat a late lunch. Back in the room, I kill some time watching TV and writing in the journal. The accommodations are far superior to those from last night with heat in the room and actual hot running water. About dinnertime, the electricity fails. I take the opportunity to go out. I get instructions to a bank machine for some cash. Fortunately, the bank has power, as does a nearby Arbys, where I get dinner and a bag of sandwiches for the road tomorrow.

I get up early, and pack up my stuff. The Weather Channel predicted continuous rain, and they were right. What they were wrong about is that the temperature didn't fall much during the night, and most paved roads had melted. The best sign was that my car didn't have any new ice on it. Today looked like it would be a good day for traveling. I hit the road after a sparse breakfast at Waffle House -- their supply trucks hadn't made it, and the menu was severely limited. I joked that I could have all the ice water and table salt I wanted, and the waitress grumbled, saying they were running low on the salt, too.



On the road, traffic was moving despite the incredible devastation. Trees were down everywhere, and there were many abandoned cars at the side of the highway. If I didn't have pictures, I wouldn't expect you to believe the degree of chaos. Under the circumstances, I made great time to Texarkana, where I decided to pull in for gas. That was a joke -- Texarkana got hit harder than Little Rock. It seemed like very other telephone pole was snapped like a twig. Light poles were bent over. Gas station signs had collapsed. A new car lot with large stadium-type lights was in dire shape: all the oversize lights had gathered ice and fallen on the new cars. There was wire strewn all over like so much carelessly tossed spaghetti. Texarkana looked like Paul Bunyan had come through with a giant weed wacker and done a little trimming. It was also useless to me -- without electricity, there would be no pumping of gasoline or cooking of food. It took me 45 minutes to get back on the highway because there was a large pileup on the ramp -- I had to go beyond the highway and turn around to use the other ramp.



Entering Texas, I take State Road 59 which runs diagonally from Texarkana towards Austin, changing numbers a couple of times along the way. I have about 1/3rd of a tank of gas, and I hope that I can make it to a town that still has electricity. I do finally find one as my gas gauge is reading empty. That was a tense drive, although I know I have some fuel in my bikes gas tank should I run out in the middle of nowhere. Through the sparse Texas countryside, I make my way to Interstate 35, the main North/South artery in Austin. At 5:30, I pull into the RV lot of Allen and Jo Reichler -- to shirtsleeve weather no less!! I'm incredibly relieved to have arrived only a day late and unscathed. We acquaint ourselves over dinner, and I get a motel for the night. The next morning, I park the car and trailer alongside their RV, where it will stay for the next 10 days.



All contents copyright Alan Lapp, 2001.