The Last Housewife

And mine was bad today. I was putting along happily enough in my brave little toaster (Honda Element), headed eastbound on the dreaded 91 freeway. Why is it dreaded? Well, because it is the only way for the millions and millions of residents of Orange County and the southerly parts of Los Angeles County to get through the pass in the Santa Ana mountains and proceed in an easternly fashion. In other words, it's the only way to get to Vegas, Palm Springs, Lake Havisu and all the other getaway places that Angelenos go on holiday weekends.

But was I worried? No way--it was only 10:00 in the morning, and traffic was light. It's not a trip I'd make after noon on a Friday, but it was plenty early. I was headed toward a store I really like in another town, that was having a one-day 40% off sale. I literally have to wedge new purchases into my closet at this point, but gosh, I hate to miss a sale. This is one I was most certainly meant to miss.

Suddenly, on the highway about 20-30 cars ahead of me, I see THIS: a huge fireball suddenly appeared, and black smoke billowed everywhere. Brakes flew on all around me, and we all came screeching to a sudden halt. An oil tanker a quarter mile ahead of me had overturned and exploded into a gigantic ball of flame.

Two hours later, we were still there. It was like some kind of surreal picnic. Car doors stood open and people milled about, chatting. Some cars got themselves turned sideways, and some even backwards in the hope of somehow reaching the on-ramp behind us and getting off the highway. The guys in the car behind me passed out water bottles to those in need. I befriended the truckers in the vehicles next to me, and they regularly updated me about what they were hearing on their radios. (Road closed for possibly 8 hours, maybe more?)

People started getting a little panicky. Some little kids were crying for a bathroom. An enterprising group of strong guys pushed a concrete barrier over, and people scrambled over it to use the port-a-potty at a construction site along the highway. A lady with a baby in her arms was walking around crying. Meanwhile, the ball of flame and the black smoke just got bigger.

It was oddly quiet, because no traffic could get through on the six lanes of the west-bound side. They were empty. In the other six lanes on our side, everyone had long-since turned off their engines to save fuel. All you could hear was a half dozen news helicopters circling overhead.

Suddenly, a buzz arose in the crowd. Behind us, to the west, you could see the large trucks begin cautiously backing down the road. A space had been cleared, and cars were taking turns either backing, or if they were small enough, turning around to drive normally down the on-ramp a half-mile or so behind us. My little Element was easy enough to turn around in a small space, so I got myself pointed backwards and ready to go the wrong way down the on-ramp, when my turn finally came. Once I finally got off the highway, finding a way to get across and get back on it toward home was my next challenge. There are no surface streets through the Santa Ana Canyon, so I had to continue eastward until I was out of the canyon, get across to the other side, and then find a way on (along with the thousands of other cars who'd been diverted off the freeway.

Three hours after my adventure began, at 1:00, I finally found myself pointed back to the west, and was able to quickly return the five miles or so back to home. Traffic on the 91 is backed up for dozens of miles in both directions. As I made my way back toward LA and away from the desert, I could see RV's and toy-haulers and campers, and of course the ever-present 18 wheelers stretched in an unending line as far as the eye could see.

I would not be surprised if they are still there at midnight, trying desperately to get out of the city.

And I have learned my lesson about unnecessary shopping expeditions.