This post is part 2 of a two-part series about our nightmarish evacuation during Hurricane Rita. Part 1 is here.

The stampede got us as far as Moscow, TX at midnight. By then, the traffic had backed up again due to some accident. I was exhausted. The cats objected whenever my fiance took the wheel, so I’d been driving for over 20 hours straight. We also had lost contact with my parents. Cellphone coverage was pathetic. Every time we’d hit a town, we’d know the quality of our signal by how many phone calls we received from worried relatives. How do you tell somebody who is worried sick about you to stop calling so that you can conserve your batteries? There were two resources we desperately needed to conserve, gasoline and cell phone batteries, but the people we loved most were draining us dry of the latter.

We got ahold of my parents and told them we were 0.2 miles beyond the burned-out RV carcass on the right-side of the road.

In Moscow, I decided to pull over in a little grassy area on the side of the road and rest. We got ahold of my parents and told them we were 0.2 miles beyond the burned-out RV carcass on the right-side of the road. They were two hours behind us in Livingston, despite being right behind us when we’d arrived there. Apparently, it took them that long to find suitable bathrooms. We told them we would wait for them in Moscow, and then tried to get some sleep. One of us had to keep watch while the other slept, because it was too hot to sleep with the windows closed. I slept first since I’d been driving all day. It wasn’t a very good sleep though, because I could here the roar of engines and horns the whole time. For some reason, people’s car alarms kept going off. I think other folks were trying to sleep in their cars with the alarms engaged.

After about an hour and half of trying to sleep, Angela woke me up. “Baby, there’s a gasoline truck! Follow him!” Before starting the car, I decided to ask him where he was going. After all, he was stuck in the same traffic as the rest of us; he clearly wasn’t going to be getting away from me. So I walked up to the cab. “You full?”, I asked. “Yes!”, he replied, “with milk!” What a pathetic Texan I make. I can’t tell the difference between a gasoline truck and a milk truck. Fortunately, I now know that gasoline trucks wear the code 1203 on a diamond placard.

What a pathetic Texan I make. I can’t tell the difference between a gasoline truck and a milk truck.

I was up then, so I decided to keep watch while Angela slept. I stood by the side of the road and watched the cars process past. It was an unbelievable sight. Taillights as far as you could see to the north, and headlights in the other direction. Cars occupied every inch of asphalt including the shoulders. Eventually my parents showed up and we found a nice spot on the grass for them to park. They were on fumes and had no idea how much farther they could go before they ran out. There certainly wasn’t any chance they’d make it to Lufkin 20 miles away, where there were rumors of gasoline.

About the time desperation was setting in, a couple police cars pulled up in front of our campsite and blocked off traffic for about 15 minutes. They were redirecting trucks from the southbound lanes on to the northbound lanes in order to “officially” open those lanes to contraflow. With the lanes blocked off to only a couple of trucks, we jumped at the chance to quickly gain some ground. We started our cars and shot off down the freeway. We made it about two miles before reencountering traffic, so we found a sidestreet between the trees to pull over for more sleep.

We slept in this new spot for about two hours. Angela’s friend Megan called around 7am to see where we were and how we were doing. We told her my parents’ gasoline situation and that we were about two miles from a town called Corrigan. A few minutes later, Megan called back to tell us that, according to Corrigan PD, a TXDOT gasoline truck was in Corrigan handing out gasoline. Shortly after that, Angela’s dad called to tell us he was going to load up his truck with 22 gallons of gasoline and drive down to us from Enid, OK. I told him I didn’t think he had a chance in hell of reaching us. The highways were contraflow and moving at a snail’s pace, but he felt he had to try something. Honestly, I didn’t put much hope in that option.

We set out on the road again. Angela and my mom decided to walk ahead to Corrigan (since walking was faster than driving) to see what the situation was there. About halfway to Corrigan, Dad’s car ran out of gas. We were so close to Corrigan, and we knew we had to get the car there. So I used my precious Audi as a battering ram to push his car down the road. Whenever a spot would open up ahead, I’d gingerly push my car up against his and nudge it a few feet.

Just as we were entering Corrigan, Angela showed up without my mom. Angela had lost my mom in a store trying to buy gallon-sized milk jugs. Yes, there was a TXDOT truck in Corrigan giving out two gallons of gasoline, but we needed to supply our own gas cans.

In our delirious state, it seemed perfectly reasonable that the Sonic would be open and serving weary evacuees.

The good news was that there was a Sonic Burger just up the road. In our delirious state, it seemed perfectly reasonable that the Sonic would be open and serving weary evacuees. We pushed my dad’s car into a Sonic Burger, and parked mine at a console. I’m embarrassed to say how many times I pushed that red button waiting for someone to answer.

The FEMA truck was expected at a vacant lot up the road. I poured out one of our water jugs to use for gasoline and headed out that way with my dad. Not surprisingly, there was a long line of people waiting for the truck. A few organizers were making sure people stayed in line. After about an hour, the “truck” showed up, and all chaos broke loose. People broke ranks and charged the truck. The operators had no choice but fill up cans on a first-come first serve basis. By the time we pushed to the front they were out of gasoline. So we had to wait again for the truck.

This time, while we waited, the organizers handed out tape with numbers written on the back. Under the new system, the pump operators would call your number when it was your time to fill up. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this system wasn’t going to work. It was no surprise that there were “duplicates” when they started calling out numbers after the truck returned. To make things worse, the pump broke down just two numbers before it was our turn. I thought God really had it in for us this time. While we were waiting the wind had picked up and flags began fluttering. The reminder of impending doom added a sense of urgency to the whole ordeal.

Fortunately, they got the pump working again after several minutes, we filled up with our two gallons of gasoline and hiked back to the cars. My car was on fumes, but dad’s was completely out. So we put a gallon and a half in his car, and half a gallon in mine. Then we decided to leave highway 59 and venture off onto some back roads to see if we made better time.

It was a breeze. No traffic at all taking 287 west to Groveton. The miracle of Groveton was that they had a gasoline station that actually had gas. Of course, there was a line down the street and around the block to get gas, but it seemed like our only hope of getting to Dallas. We stopped at the end of the line and waited. Angela and my mom went into an open convenience store to get food, water, and some kitty litter for the cats. They hadn’t eaten anything or peed since we left, but they still didn’t take too well to the make-shift litter box we prepared for them.

To give you an idea of how small Groveton is, this is a picture of the Groveton jail. The guys in the orange pants are prisoners watching the storm roll in. The guy in jeans is the sheriff.

In the meantime, clouds were starting to roll in and rumors were circulating that the gas station would soon run out. That’s when Angela’s dad called. He was on the highway heading to Corrigan. We told him we’d made it to Groveton and how to get there from where he was. He arrived just a few minutes later with 22 gallons of gas and cooler full of sandwiches and cokes. We filled up the cars, then took off down the highway towards Dallas.

Angela drove the car on this leg. I was exhausted and probably suffering from sunstroke. I couldn’t read anything. It was the oddest feeling. I recognized the letters, but my brain just wouldn’t process the words. So I sat in the backseat with the cats. After we’d been on the road for awhile, I noticed our white cat, Ofalia, digging through the clothes stuffed in the footwell. I mumbled, “Oaf’s digging for something,” and Angela veered right off the road. I was new to cats and didn’t realize at the time that cats start digging before they’re about to do their business. Unfortunately, Angela’s quick reflexes were no match for Oaf’s bladder. After all we’d been through, our triumphant ride into Dallas smelled of pipi du chat.

A few hours later, we arrived in Dallas. Angela’s dad wanted us to follow him all the way back to Enid, but none of us had the energy. A Hampton Inn took us in, and the manager conveniently looked the other way when we smuggled the cats into our room. I took a long shower, turned on the TV, grabbed a bottle of scotch from my things, then crawled into bed. Then, I opened my laptop and responded to multiple queries about my whereabouts:

I’m safe in Dallas. It took me 45 hours of hell to get here, but I’m finally here. I’m sunburnt, dehydrated, (probably suffering from sunstroke), exhausted, filthy, reaking of gasoline, and starving. My car is covered in cat hair, smells like a litter box, and has been used as a battering ram to push my Dad’s car to gasoline. I never thought my life would become a Mad Max movie where the entire plot revolves around finding a remote fuel depot.

I’m now going to watch the hurricane on T.V. with a tall scotch.

-g

It’s a good idea to fill up your gas tank today before Tropical Storm Edouard hits. The good news is that it won’t cost you as much as it would have in prior weeks. This is the third straight week that prices at the pump for regular unleaded have fallen since they peaked around July 14 thru 17. This table summarizes the current prices according to the AAA’s Daily Fuel Gauge Report:

So in the last week, the average price fell 7.1 cents per gallon from $3.93 to $3.859. If gas prices continue to decline at this rate, gasoline will be free in 54 weeks!

Folks in Beaumont get a reprieve this week as El Paso over takes them for the dubious distinction of highest priced gasoline in the state, and now Texarkana is the cheapest place to buy gas.

photo credit: joguldi

No, this isn’t another story about Char and I taking a joy ride in an unattended golf cart. We’re grown up now.

There was a recent article in the Wall Street Journal about how a few Texans have taken to driving electric golf carts because of high gas prices. These cars seem limited to city driving since their maximum speed is only 25 mph and they have a range of just 30 miles. Still, they’re only paying 2 cents per mile compared to 20 cents per mile for a car that gets 20 mpg. For one person in the article, that equates to saving $100/month. With savings like that, the cars, which cost only $7,000-$18,000 nearly pay for themselves.

Continuing the trend we reported early last week, gas prices have continued to fall. According to the AAA’s Daily Fuel Gauge Report, prices for regular unleaded gasoline peaked around July 14 thru 17, and have fallen ever since. This table summarizes the current prices:

So in the last week, the average price fell 7.1 cents per gallon from $3.93 to $3.859. If gas prices continue to decline at this rate, gasoline will be free in 54 weeks!

Folks in Beaumont get a reprieve this week as El Paso over takes them for the dubious distinction of highest priced gasoline in the state, and now Texarkana is the cheapest place to buy gas.

It appears that gas prices around the state have fallen since President Bush lifted the Presidential ban on offshore drilling last week. The President’s action was purely symbolic because a Congressional ban is still in place. Nevertheless, the price of oil fell significantly on the news. According to the AAA’s Daily Fuel Gauge Report, prices for regular unleaded gasoline peaked around July 14 thru 17, and have fallen since.  This table summarizes the fall:

So the average price fell 4.4 cents per gallon from $3.974 to $3.93. Let’s hope this trend continues.

Last week Beaumont had the worst prices in the state, but this week that distinction goes to Austin/San Marcos. The best price is in Amarillo.

If you’re not in the oil business and actually dislike higher gas prices, the Department of Energy lists sites that show the lowest gas prices in each Texas city. In addition to a bunch of commercial sites, the DOE site also has links to AAA’s Daily Fuel Gauge Report and the Energy Information Administration.

Right now, Beaumont-Port Arthur has the highest price for regular unleaded in Texas.

In DWT’s inaugural post, Graham talks about his introduction to Texan culture, especially on the roadways, and how it spawned DWT. Coming from California, he was amazed at the disparity with California’s “oppressive traffic enforcement”. Well, I’m a born and raised Texan, so it comes as no surprise to me that people were defiant towards a decrease in the speed limit. Heck, people ignore the speed limit when its 65/70 (in one week all the men in my family got speeding tickets; coincidentally, none of them were our fault). All too often I’ve been driving down the highway going the “speed limit” only to be passed like I’m standing still. And not by a Ferrari but by a soccer mom in an Escalade.

But what happens when you pit a Texan’s love for driving whatever speed we want, against our pocketbook?

Recently, Senator John Warner suggested studying the feasibility of a return to a federally mandated speed limit to allow for a decrease in nationwide fuel consumption. I thought of the repercussions here in Texas. Let’s assume that we returned to the a federally mandated speed limit of 55 mph, as it was in 1974, would Texans respond given the high gas prices?

The Houston Chronicle conducted a recent survey (not entirely robust, but it works) by driving 60 mph on the major freeways in Houston to determine the average rate of travel of fellow drivers. The ratio on one day of being passed to passing others was 478:0.

Texans won’t slow down, even in the current climate of exorbitant gas prices. So it would seem, Lyle Lovett could easily have written “Don’t Touch My Speed Limit” instead of “Don’t Touch My Hat.”

Now let’s get to some sciencing. Most fuel efficiency sites I read online cite this number, and there is even a graph on a Department of Energy website () which shows that indeed fuel efficiency is maximum at 55 mph. I found this exact same graph in their annual Fuel Economy report since 2003. Is it me, or should this graph deviate slightly from year-to-year?

The scientist in me wants to know: when the study was commissioned, how many vehicles were studied, and the types of vehicles. None of which were given. As you would imagine, fuel efficiency, and the relationship with efficiency in speed is highly dependent upon the car. You have drag, weight and engine issues to consider.

I can’t help but think that automobile engineers have the specs dialed in for each car to achieve the highest efficiency at common highway speeds (i.e. ~70 mph). This is indicated by any ECU changes that can easily be made to most cars to increase horsepower and torque, but only at the detriment of gas mileage. My Volvo s60R has a slightly higher tuned engine than the average car and I achieve the same MPGs at 85 that I do at 70, 65, and 60. This makes me think that instituting a (lower) federal speed limit would only serve to increase the amount of money local governments get due to speeding tickets.

I think an emerging trend I would like to see would be to have MPG vs. Speed curve for every car, much like most performance automobiles have horsepower and torque curves. That way you let the individual decide which is the optimum speed to drive for their car. Everybody wants better gas mileage, so put that decision in their hands.