Post by jimcobb on Jun 1, 2023 21:00:55 GMT
Several years ago, I was asked by the editor of OFFGRID magazine to participate in their What If article series. The way it worked was they’d get together three contributors from the survival world, such as instructors or authors. We’d each be given the same scenario and we were to wargame our way through the situation. I always liked doing these articles as they let me play with fiction a bit while also imparting some good information. It was always interesting to see how the other contributors handled things, too. This was my contribution to one of those articles.
Situation Type: Natural disaster
Your Crew: You and your son, Bobby
Location: Tulsa, Oklahoma
Season: Autumn
Weather: Cloudy and unusually warm, 85 degrees F
The Setup
As a history teacher in your late 40s, you're driving your 15-year-old son, Bobby, to his baseball game across town. Unfortunately, you're running late. During rush hour. While your '99 Dodge Durango might be getting long in the tooth, it fortunately still hauls ass when needed. Plus, there's plenty of room for Bobby's catcher's equipment to sit alongside your vehicle's emergency kit.
The Complication
You've just gotten onto U.S. Route 64 when you notice the gray clouds have gotten pretty dark, dropping thick droplets of rain. By the time you merge onto Interstate 244, the rain is so intense that visibility has dropped dramatically. Except for a few knuckleheads, everyone has slowed down. You look at the clock on the dashboard and curse. At this pace, you're gonna be late. Just as the rain lets up, Bobby calls for you, his voice unusually high for a kid who hit puberty several years before: “Dad! Look!” You turn just in time to see a tornado forming off to your right. You can't tell how far away it is, but it looks huge.
The New Plan
If you were at home, you'd head for the basement. If you were at work, you'd head to the nearest designated storm shelter, most likely the local school's storm-resistant gymnasium. But on the open freeway? If the tornado suddenly turns toward you, you might only have seconds to find lower ground, a difficult proposition in a moving vehicle on a concrete expressway with retaining walls on both sides. Will you stop and abandon your vehicle? Or try to outrun this twister?
My Story
We'd merged on to eastbound I-244, and it was like driving directly into a waterfall. Bobby, bless his heart, had been talking nonstop about the new girl in chemistry class, but held his tongue when he saw how hard it was coming down. He knew dad needed to concentrate on the road. Traffic slowed to a crawl and was nearly bumper to bumper in the center and right lanes. The left lane was fairly empty, save for the typical speed demons with less sense than God gave a turnip.
Just as we crossed under Memorial Drive, the rain seemed to lessen a bit. I hadn't even finished my sigh of relief when Bobby yelled, “Dad! Look!” Off to the southeast, we could see what looked almost like a finger beginning to reach down from the clouds. This was a big, fat middle finger telling me that our plans for the baseball game were about to take a hard right into Screwedville.
I hate to admit this, but I just sat there, transfixed by the sight of an actual funnel cloud. I'm an Okie, born and raised, but had never actually seen one up close and personal, believe it or not. It was my son who snapped me out of it: “Dad, what do we do?”
Tornadoes generally move from southwest to northeast, due to the rotational winds. However, that's by no means a rule set in stone. There have been enough reported and verified anomalies that I knew there was no way I could be certain where this thing was headed. I also couldn't get a good read on distance. I felt as though it were maybe a mile away, but we were in kind of a gully on the east side of the Memorial Drive overpass, so I couldn't see exactly where the funnel was going to touch down.
We had three options: I could try to get around the traffic ahead of us and get us as far away as I could as quickly as possible, we could sit tight in the SUV and hope for the best, or we could bail and head for shelter.
“Dad, let's get under the bridge,” Bobby suggested. “That should give us some protection.”
“No way, buddy. Bad idea. All an overpass does is create a potential wind tunnel and puts us in more danger. We're going to get the hell out of here.” With that, I spun the wheel to the left and started to cut across to the exit ramp onto Memorial Drive. I knew that tornadoes moved about 30 to 40 mph on average, and I hoped I could outrun it. I'd driven Memorial Drive countless times and knew there were a ton of side streets just north of where we were. I figured I could dump off the interstate and take some of those side streets back to the west to at least get away from the area.
Just as I was getting into the exit lane — wham! One of those aforementioned idiots slammed into us. He hit just ahead of my driver-side front tire and spun us around about 180 degrees. Suddenly, we were facing west and looking at dozens of headlights. My side of the Durango was sitting a little lower than it had been before, and I knew without looking that we were dead in the water. Flat tire at a minimum, probably worse. The guy who hit us just kept on going.
I jumped out of the SUV and looked toward where I'd seen the tornado last. It was either growing or heading our way, possibly both. “Bobby! C'mon, we have to get out of here!” I ran to the back of the Durango and grabbed my small EDC shoulder bag.
As I ran around the SUV and opened Bobby's door, I saw he was holding his right arm. He groaned, “Dad, my shoulder hurts.” He'd been holding onto the “oh, crap” handle above the door when we were hit. Bobby was cradling his arm, holding it tight to his body. We had zero time for me to do any sort of injury assessment. We needed to boogie.
I knew there was a McDonald's restaurant immediately to the south of our location. Just about all restaurants, including fast food joints, have walk-in coolers. That was about the best I could hope for in terms of an emergency shelter right now. But we needed to get to it first.
I looped my EDC bag over my shoulder and slung it across my body. I then tore off my belt and put it over Bobby's left shoulder and brought it around in front of him, cinching it tight and trapping his right arm. He winced; I knew it hurt like a bastard, but there wasn't much else we could do at the moment.
I've always felt people spend far too much time on their cell phones, either updating social media, playing games, or sending text messages. For once, though, I was grateful that someone had come up with the idea of including a camera on phones. Traffic was now at a complete standstill as just about every driver had gotten out of their vehicle to take photos of the tornado.
Bobby and I got across the road as quickly as we could and lurched our way up the concrete embankment. Even with an injured shoulder he beat me to the top of the hill. We darted around a wooden fence and ran across the parking lot as storm sirens blared. The tornado loomed what seemed like mere yards away as we yanked the door open and ran inside.
The manager was already in the process of directing people into the kitchen; we followed suit. There were about eight of us total, and we all made our way into the cooler. I stacked a few boxes on the floor and sat Bobby down.
As might be expected, we lost power and thus lights right after we got into the cooler. I pulled one of my LED flashlights from my EDC bag and used it to take a look at Bobby's shoulder. He'd wrenched it pretty good, but it didn't look dislocated. I draped a bag of frozen fries over his shoulder to help with the pain and swelling until we could get it looked at by a doctor or EMT.
We could all hear the wind howling outside as the tornado passed by. Everybody jumped when we heard a window smash. Once the noise outside quieted down, we made our way out of the cooler. The smashing we'd heard was the result of a mailbox from a neighboring business taking flight into one of the restaurant's windows. Other than Bobby, no one appeared injured. I always keep at least two lights in my EDC bag. One high-end, and another cheap enough that I can lend out or give away. I gave that one to the manager as he couldn't find the one that was supposed to be under the counter.
I called 911 and was surprised at how quickly a rescue squad arrived to take a look at Bobby. I had already called my wife, and she arrived at about the same time as the EMTs. I could see from the parking lot that traffic had started moving on I-244, and there was no way I was going to play Frogger to get back.
Situation Type: Natural disaster
Your Crew: You and your son, Bobby
Location: Tulsa, Oklahoma
Season: Autumn
Weather: Cloudy and unusually warm, 85 degrees F
The Setup
As a history teacher in your late 40s, you're driving your 15-year-old son, Bobby, to his baseball game across town. Unfortunately, you're running late. During rush hour. While your '99 Dodge Durango might be getting long in the tooth, it fortunately still hauls ass when needed. Plus, there's plenty of room for Bobby's catcher's equipment to sit alongside your vehicle's emergency kit.
The Complication
You've just gotten onto U.S. Route 64 when you notice the gray clouds have gotten pretty dark, dropping thick droplets of rain. By the time you merge onto Interstate 244, the rain is so intense that visibility has dropped dramatically. Except for a few knuckleheads, everyone has slowed down. You look at the clock on the dashboard and curse. At this pace, you're gonna be late. Just as the rain lets up, Bobby calls for you, his voice unusually high for a kid who hit puberty several years before: “Dad! Look!” You turn just in time to see a tornado forming off to your right. You can't tell how far away it is, but it looks huge.
The New Plan
If you were at home, you'd head for the basement. If you were at work, you'd head to the nearest designated storm shelter, most likely the local school's storm-resistant gymnasium. But on the open freeway? If the tornado suddenly turns toward you, you might only have seconds to find lower ground, a difficult proposition in a moving vehicle on a concrete expressway with retaining walls on both sides. Will you stop and abandon your vehicle? Or try to outrun this twister?
My Story
We'd merged on to eastbound I-244, and it was like driving directly into a waterfall. Bobby, bless his heart, had been talking nonstop about the new girl in chemistry class, but held his tongue when he saw how hard it was coming down. He knew dad needed to concentrate on the road. Traffic slowed to a crawl and was nearly bumper to bumper in the center and right lanes. The left lane was fairly empty, save for the typical speed demons with less sense than God gave a turnip.
Just as we crossed under Memorial Drive, the rain seemed to lessen a bit. I hadn't even finished my sigh of relief when Bobby yelled, “Dad! Look!” Off to the southeast, we could see what looked almost like a finger beginning to reach down from the clouds. This was a big, fat middle finger telling me that our plans for the baseball game were about to take a hard right into Screwedville.
I hate to admit this, but I just sat there, transfixed by the sight of an actual funnel cloud. I'm an Okie, born and raised, but had never actually seen one up close and personal, believe it or not. It was my son who snapped me out of it: “Dad, what do we do?”
Tornadoes generally move from southwest to northeast, due to the rotational winds. However, that's by no means a rule set in stone. There have been enough reported and verified anomalies that I knew there was no way I could be certain where this thing was headed. I also couldn't get a good read on distance. I felt as though it were maybe a mile away, but we were in kind of a gully on the east side of the Memorial Drive overpass, so I couldn't see exactly where the funnel was going to touch down.
We had three options: I could try to get around the traffic ahead of us and get us as far away as I could as quickly as possible, we could sit tight in the SUV and hope for the best, or we could bail and head for shelter.
“Dad, let's get under the bridge,” Bobby suggested. “That should give us some protection.”
“No way, buddy. Bad idea. All an overpass does is create a potential wind tunnel and puts us in more danger. We're going to get the hell out of here.” With that, I spun the wheel to the left and started to cut across to the exit ramp onto Memorial Drive. I knew that tornadoes moved about 30 to 40 mph on average, and I hoped I could outrun it. I'd driven Memorial Drive countless times and knew there were a ton of side streets just north of where we were. I figured I could dump off the interstate and take some of those side streets back to the west to at least get away from the area.
Just as I was getting into the exit lane — wham! One of those aforementioned idiots slammed into us. He hit just ahead of my driver-side front tire and spun us around about 180 degrees. Suddenly, we were facing west and looking at dozens of headlights. My side of the Durango was sitting a little lower than it had been before, and I knew without looking that we were dead in the water. Flat tire at a minimum, probably worse. The guy who hit us just kept on going.
I jumped out of the SUV and looked toward where I'd seen the tornado last. It was either growing or heading our way, possibly both. “Bobby! C'mon, we have to get out of here!” I ran to the back of the Durango and grabbed my small EDC shoulder bag.
As I ran around the SUV and opened Bobby's door, I saw he was holding his right arm. He groaned, “Dad, my shoulder hurts.” He'd been holding onto the “oh, crap” handle above the door when we were hit. Bobby was cradling his arm, holding it tight to his body. We had zero time for me to do any sort of injury assessment. We needed to boogie.
I knew there was a McDonald's restaurant immediately to the south of our location. Just about all restaurants, including fast food joints, have walk-in coolers. That was about the best I could hope for in terms of an emergency shelter right now. But we needed to get to it first.
I looped my EDC bag over my shoulder and slung it across my body. I then tore off my belt and put it over Bobby's left shoulder and brought it around in front of him, cinching it tight and trapping his right arm. He winced; I knew it hurt like a bastard, but there wasn't much else we could do at the moment.
I've always felt people spend far too much time on their cell phones, either updating social media, playing games, or sending text messages. For once, though, I was grateful that someone had come up with the idea of including a camera on phones. Traffic was now at a complete standstill as just about every driver had gotten out of their vehicle to take photos of the tornado.
Bobby and I got across the road as quickly as we could and lurched our way up the concrete embankment. Even with an injured shoulder he beat me to the top of the hill. We darted around a wooden fence and ran across the parking lot as storm sirens blared. The tornado loomed what seemed like mere yards away as we yanked the door open and ran inside.
The manager was already in the process of directing people into the kitchen; we followed suit. There were about eight of us total, and we all made our way into the cooler. I stacked a few boxes on the floor and sat Bobby down.
As might be expected, we lost power and thus lights right after we got into the cooler. I pulled one of my LED flashlights from my EDC bag and used it to take a look at Bobby's shoulder. He'd wrenched it pretty good, but it didn't look dislocated. I draped a bag of frozen fries over his shoulder to help with the pain and swelling until we could get it looked at by a doctor or EMT.
We could all hear the wind howling outside as the tornado passed by. Everybody jumped when we heard a window smash. Once the noise outside quieted down, we made our way out of the cooler. The smashing we'd heard was the result of a mailbox from a neighboring business taking flight into one of the restaurant's windows. Other than Bobby, no one appeared injured. I always keep at least two lights in my EDC bag. One high-end, and another cheap enough that I can lend out or give away. I gave that one to the manager as he couldn't find the one that was supposed to be under the counter.
I called 911 and was surprised at how quickly a rescue squad arrived to take a look at Bobby. I had already called my wife, and she arrived at about the same time as the EMTs. I could see from the parking lot that traffic had started moving on I-244, and there was no way I was going to play Frogger to get back.