Into the storm

I drive all around the Southeast. I know most of the main and backroads and can tell you, within five minutes, how long it takes to get to any point in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Florida. I’ve navigated snow, rain, fog and wind. I’ve driven in a hurricane (Katrina) and outrun tornadoes. Saturday’s storm near Eutaw, Alabama was the worst I’ve ever driven in. The sky was pitch black, pouring sheets of rain and hammering the Earth with frequent cloud-to-ground lightning. I saw a half dozen cars in the ditch (after hydroplaning) and wondered at the Mensas who refused to turn on their headlights. It was 25 minutes of sheer terror.

Why? Because my family was with me. All I hold precious was sitting in a vehicle under my control. And the weather was starting to rock our van.

Yes, I said van. We have a 2014 Honda Odyssey for a family truckster. Say what you want to about vans, it’s the safest thing I’ve ever driven. We had a 2005 Odyssey for nine years. And absolutely loved it. This one is better in every way. I was thankful for good tires and traction control. And praying I wouldn’t need the airbags.

I chanted to myself, “Dear God, get me through this storm.”

My wipers were beating like John Bonham’s arms. My heart was keeping rhythm. A truck driver, who apparently had a death-wish, zoomed past us, dousing our windshield with an opaque spray of death. The interstate went to one late at the Tenn-Tom waterway. How I didn’t crash into the barrels is a mystery to me. Lightning struck the bridge, causing my heart to stop.

As we broke free of the storm’s grip, the sky was an eerie shade of orange (thankfully not green — no hail was in this storm). The rain swirled in the sky, doing an exotic dance before it fell to the ground. It looked surreal. If I hadn’t been so focused on the road ahead of me (why do people REFUSE to turn on their lights?), I would have marveled at its beauty.

My wife drove through Birmingham (I needed a break). We saw rain shafts coming from the storms that looked like non-spinning tornadoes. I never saw a rainbow after the flood, though. I guess our survival was sign enough that we’d live to fight on another day.10629751_10154570287725721_2925978958066275520_n

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