Evacuating Hurricane Gustav

SPRING, Texas, Aug. 31, 10:53 pm CDT -- In a few hours, Hurricane Gustav will come ashore and have a severe impact on New Orleans, if the latest projections are correct. The waiting is always the worst part before a major storm.

The storm began Wednesday for my family. Since Katrina, people in New Orleans have become very sensitive to any tropical disturbance, and Wednesday was really the first day everyone started to think Gustav could be a problem.

Now, with the outer bands of the storm beginning to hit the city and less than 18 hours until landfall, I finally have a moment to catch my breath and reflect on the last five days from the safety of my sister-in-law's house in Houston. I am exhausted. With the exception of a one-hour nap yesterday afternoon, I haven't slept in two days.

Now the dread and anticipation of what my life might become in the next 48 hours is beginning to set in. My house is seven feet above sea level. That is usually enough. Usually. However, with the surge they are projecting in this storm, it might not be enough this time. I live on two golf courses, and all the water hazards are fed by the Tchefuncte River, which is expected to overflow more than ever before. On top of that, some forecasts are calling for up to 20 inches of rain.

Flooding aside, pine trees are not rated for 100+ mph winds and my house is surrounded by - you guessed it - scores of pine trees. My neighbor across the street had a pine tree cut his house in half during Katrina. On top of all this, the weather guys say the conditions are perfect for tornadoes before the storm arrives. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

The picture was nowhere near this grim on Wednesday when we first started tracking this thing. The cone of possibility was far and wide, stretching from Florida to Central Texas. My wife and I started debating whether or not we would leave, and how close it would have to come to force our evacuation. We didn't even begin preparations for the storm. As a rule, New Orleans natives never believe a hurricane is coming to New Orleans.

On Thursday the conversations became a little more urgent. The storm strengthened and pointed itself more firmly in our direction. Evacuating is no small task, though, and you never want to do it if you don't absolutely have to. I started making mental checklists of things we'd need if we stayed (water, canned goods, propane, chain saw parts, plywood) and things we'd need if we left (coolers for our frozen meats, important documents, photos, extra fuel).

Friday arrived with more bad news. It started looking more and more like New Orleans would get hit pretty hard and the North Shore, where we live, wouldn't be as bad but it would still be pretty rough. By now, the storm was all anyone could talk about and local businesses started shutting down to give their employees a chance to get out of town. I decided that my wife and kids would go to her sister's house in Houston, and I would ride it out at home with our two dogs. I still hadn't made any preparations (I can only chalk this up to denial) and the stores were beginning to run out of supplies.

By Saturday morning, it was obvious this was another Katrina and no one was staying. Now the question became a matter of when to leave. Leave too early, and you'd spend the whole day in traffic. To add to the misery, LSU re-scheduled their home opener for 10:00 am. If the game was a blowout (it was), another 75,000 or so people would be on the roads at halftime. Wait too long to get on the road and you ran the risk of getting caught up in Contra-Flow, a system that looks good on paper but ended up being a total disaster during Katrina.

I hung the storm windows, we waited for the 7:00 pm update, and then hit the road. The minivan was packed to the gills with everything we thought we couldn't live without. Leaving at this time ended up being a stroke of genius, or so we thought at first. We made it from Mandeville to the Texas border in four and a half hours, including a potty stop. There was no one on the road. Once we hit Texas though, everything came crashing down around us. It took us six hours to go the last 80 miles of the trip. At one point, we went 13 miles in three hours. We had finally caught up to the evacuating mass of humanity.

We arrived early Sunday morning. No strangers to a hurricane evacuation, the whole family just grabs floor space and crashes. In this four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath suburban home, we have 17 people ranging in age from three to ninety-four, and six dogs to boot. All things considered, things run smoothly. Aside from a break for church, most of the day is spent glued to the weather reports. A huge spaghetti dinner is enjoyed, the air mattresses are inflated, and everyone is ready to call it a night.

We don't know what to expect in the morning. Hurricane Katrina sent 17 feet of water through my office, destroying everything. This one certainly has that kind of potential. Of course we hope and pray for the best. By this time tomorrow, we'll either be rejoicing or we'll be homeless. Either way, we'll be thankful to be alive. For right now, I'm just looking forward to a good night's sleep. I have a feeling I'm going to need it.