Val vs. the Atlanta Snowpocalypse

Estimated reading time: 21 minutes

As you know, my city has been the focus of scrutiny and ridicule following the absurdity of last week’s snow-induced debacle better known as the Atlanta Snowpocalypse. And, as you also know, we were right smack in the thick of it.

The setup

Tuesday marked the first day of the new semester of Fred and George’s classes at their homeschool co-op. That morning, we traveled about 35 miles from Roswell (north of Atlanta) to the Decatur area (East side of Atlanta). I knew snow was on its way and that it always causes Atlanta much distress. With only 2 inches forecast for the afternoon, it was not initially a red-flag situation for me, though.

It was all very peaceful at first. I was sitting in the car working while the kids were in class. Light, fluffy, snow began falling all around. All the kids—and many of the parents—were excited. They played and giggled with delight.

When classes were over at 1:30, I had no idea what awaited me on the roads. I had been working away in the car, not plugged into the news. I’d gotten no worrisome indications from any of the other parents at the co-op. And so we set out to go home, normally a 30-45 minute drive. Obviously it took a bit longer than that.

Atlantans are not snow-savvy

In spite of our generally mild weather, Atlanta gets smacked with a winter storm every now-and-then. But it’s not often enough for us to actually learn how to deal with it properly. For a little perspective, here’s what usually happens in Atlanta—

The mention of a snowflake possibly being sighted shuts down schools. Typically every system in the very, very large metro area closes. We’ve collectively gotten used to the Chicken Little snow-is-coming over-reaction and so we’re a bit jaded. In this case, some schools closed, most didn’t. Our homeschool co-op follows a school system that did not close, so off we went to class.

Clearly, this particular weather event was initially not a batten-down-the-hatches situation even by Atlanta standards. That’s unlike Snowmageddon 2011 when Atlanta got hit with a true ice storm. We knew it was coming, we knew it was going to be ice, and we knew we couldn’t handle it. The city shut down in advance and most folks stayed home. The city was useless for almost a week as the freeze-thaw cycles kept the roads dangerous. But it wasn’t a civic emergency, just a nuisance.

Apparently we didn’t have as much sense this time.

(PS—Yes, I know—Snowpocalypse, Snowmageddon, ClusterFlake, Snarlocaust, etc.—we Georgians have a flare for the dramatic when it comes to winter weather.)

The build-up to Snowpocalypse

By the time we got on the road in Decatur at 1:30 PM to head back to Roswell, traffic was snarled and slow but not grid-locked. When I realized how bad it was, I considered hanging out at a nearby friend’s house to wait it out. Not because I anticipated a very dangerous situation, but because I didn’t want to deal with that kind of traffic. With the Disapproving Beagle waiting for us at home though, I figured we’d just take our lumps and continue on. Again, I had no idea what this was turning into in terms of a public safety disaster.

We were also originally planning to have lunch back at home. Realizing we were in for the long haul to make our 35-mile trip, I actually made one of my few smart moves which was to grab some fast food. It’s something we don’t often resort to, but I’ve never been happier I visited a drive-through.

Ice, ice baby

Two important factors laid the groundwork for this nightmare. Number one—the powers-that-be decided to finally issue the order to close schools, government offices, etc.. That meant that nearly every Atlantan was heading home at the same time.

As we sat on I-285, I told the kids it was rush-hour on steroids and it was going to take a long time to get home. So we dropped into road-trip mode—’cause, as y’all know, that’s our jam and we’re damn good at it. We sang at the top of our lungs, listened to podcasts, practiced our spanish, and all the other things we do to keep ourselves entertained in the car.

Number two—plummeting temperatures was turning the melted snow into ice. Now you have not just clogged roads but icy ones. Remember what I said about Atlantans not being snow-savvy? Well, that means we’re not ice-savvy either. That equals crashes. Lots of them. And that’s when everything comes to a complete halt.

I made the first half of our trip in 90 minutes. The other half took another 13-1/2 hours.

Grasping the situation

When you’re stuck on the road like we were, it’s hard to tell what’s going on and what your best option is. And that’s hard for by-standers to understand. You can’t see the forest for the trees. You’re living one decision at a time. The situation in your immediate area is changing around you almost before you can make adjustments. Sitting on I-285 initially, we couldn’t really tell how badly things were deteriorating. It was turning from just a major hassle into a very dangerous situation and we didn’t understand the scale from our vantage-point.

Shooting myself in the foot

The little tidbit I’ve yet to share is that when I left the loft that morning, I had only a quarter tank of gas. When we’re on road trips that’s when I fill up. Around town? Well, I foolishly and admittedly took for granted that I would have easy access to fuel. So no, I didn’t not fill up as I should have. It cost me dearly.

You see, while I was be-bopping along with the kids, trying to keep them distracted from the lengthy, unexpected delays, I was watching my fuel gauge and knowing I was in a world of hurt. By the time we got to GA 400, the last stretch north to Roswell, I knew I had to address the problem.

It was about this time that poor Fred lost his grip. After four hours on the road, my sweet Asperger child couldn’t take it anymore. He had expected to be able to get home and relax and he just wasn’t coping with the unexpected change and growing hopelessness of the situation.

Three things led me to pull off the interstate: the pressing fuel situation, Fred needing a break, and the nagging sense that was time to get off the highway. I knew I needed more options that only surface streets would give me, snarled as they were. This also gave Fred a chance to get out of the car and regroup. We were all also in dire need of a bio break.

Reality hits hard

I knew we were in for a long haul. I knew getting fuel was going to be a tall order. In spite of knowing that, it was at this time that the reality hit me like a wrecking ball. When we pulled off of GA 400, the magnitude of gridlock was astounding. Paralyzing, in fact. I couldn’t get near a gas station. We stopped for our bio break at a restaurant that was still open.

With that issue managed, I scoped out my options. I was across a 6-lane street from a gas station but I couldn’t get to it. For two hours, nothing moved. I called hotels within walking distance but of course everything was full. We had to stick with trying for fuel.

It was several hours later before I got even close to the station. I knew there was no hope of me getting into the station before the tanks were run dry. Having spent some time doing groundwater remediation at stations like this, I had a good idea how big their tanks were. Assessing how hard the station had been pounded for many hours by desperate commuters, some quick math told me that even if I got in, it probably wasn’t going to be before they ran out of fuel.

Keeping panic at bay

With no hope of getting fuel, no place to go to hunker down in, being almost entirely unprepared for an emergency situation, and plummeting temperatures, I felt the beginnings of panic start to creep in. That’s something I rarely succumb to. But it was clear I wasn’t getting the car into the gas station. I also had no container to bring fuel to the car and I was certain there were no longer gas cans to be bought at the station.

Looking around at the scene at all of the people and the gridlock, the scale of the situation swept over me. With the antics of the Car Talk guys keeping the kids in giggles, I messaged a friend and said I was very much in trouble. And this is the power of support my dear friends. I received a message back asking me if I had water, fuel, and if I was in danger. I answered yes, no, and a hesitant-kind-of-sort-of “no.”

Taking control

Those were exactly the questions I needed to be asking myself but was too overwhelmed to identify. I had a little bit of water that I just happen to carry out of habit. I even had some snacks on board for the same reason. Obviously I had little fuel and that was a very big problem because once that ran out, we were sitting ducks in the sub-freezing temperatures.

But with that last question, I got my head back on straight. I looked around and realized that I was near hotels and restaurants that were still open and had power. I actually did have places to go to stay warm even if they weren’t ideal. Then Mama Bear in me did some mental gymnastics. Maybe the hotel rooms were fully booked, but damn it if I wouldn’t go camp out in the lobby of one of them if I absolutely had to and refuse to be kicked out if they tried.

Having regathered my wits realizing I did have some options, I got back into the mode of getting myself out of the situation. Or at least into a less-shitty one. I warned the kids that we would not be getting home that night in all likelihood. Fred had gotten his freak-out over with and was coping again. That was a huge pressure relief for me, of course.

A savior

My next step all hinged on fuel. I accepted I wasn’t getting the car into the station and without fuel I wasn’t getting home. I knew I needed to either find a way to get fuel out to to the car or go the lobby sit-in route. So I pulled out of line for the station and wiggled the car to a bank parking lot across the street. I walked over to the gas station to see if there was any chance of getting fuel.

I came across a man with gas cans helping a woman refuel her car. He was helping people out and agreed to put me in his queue. This remarkable man, who lived 30 miles away, had the foresight to realize he was going to be stuck for a long time so he’d bought some extra-warm clothes and gas cans earlier in the day and set to helping people. I was floored. People were begging to buy the gas cans off of him but he refused. He simply let people fill them up, helped them get fuel in their cars, then he’d move on to the next person.

My miscalculation about the fuel supply was that the traffic jam slowed the flow of cars entering and leaving the station. That was the only reason the station still had fuel. The gridlock was acting as an unexpected regulator. So when it was my turn for help from Wes-the-Gas-Man, we were able to walk up to the pump and get fuel without being rude to any waiting customers. Anyone there had already filled up and was trying to get out of the station—and couldn’t.

Getting down to business

Within 30 minutes of my brush with panic, I was refueled and back on the road—not a full tank but more than enough. I spent the next two hours in disbelief. I’d gone from the resolution of having to find a random place to protect my children for the night to the possibility of actually making it home. That’s if I could stay away from getting into an crash on the icy roads.

Keep in mind that it was after 7 PM by this time. Most of us drivers were still in the mode of thinking we’d wait it out and things would start to ease up. It wasn’t until after 8PM that I started to get messages that emergency shelters were opening up. By then, I had gas and had resigned myself to backroads and surface streets. The reality was that traffic was so snarled, I couldn’t get to any of the designated shelters even if I’d tried. Yet we were still 10 miles from home.

Settling in

Refueled, we crept along the surface streets. From my position leaving the bank parking lot, I was able to slide around some very big traffic snags by wiggling through nearly-deserted back streets. That let me get away from the more congested areas and we actually made some very good progress. We had a little bit of hope.

And then we’d hit another snag or another wreck that needed to be cleared. We cycled through surges of moving forward and getting stuck, not knowing how long it would be before we moved again. At this point, we were getting offers to stay with friends-of-friends as Atlantans embraced emergency-management networking. Just about the time I would seriously start considering those, we’d have another big surge of progress, fooling us into thinking we’d be ok to get home with only 6 miles to go.

We continued to crawl along in fits-and-starts. The kids settled in to sleep knowing we still had many hours ahead of us. I used the surface streets to my advantage, making decisions on the fly about which route to go next. In spite of still being in horrendous traffic, I had options that I wouldn’t have had on the highway.

And sure enough, after awhile I started getting word that GA 400 had been closed. I knew that would only put more pressure on the surrounding surface streets so I stayed away from the roads with highway exits.

So close yet so far

At three miles from home, we were almost in the clear. But were now out of options. There was only one way to get over the Chattahoochee River and make the last stretch towards home. And that’s when a school bus and a MARTA bus side-swiped each other over the bridge, shutting down the road for four hours.

Of course, we didn’t know what was happening at the time. We only knew that everything had stopped moving—again. With fuel in the car though, I knew we’d be ok and that we wouldn’t freeze. We were still too far to walk home, though. Not knowing what the hold-up ahead of us was, held out hope that the road would re-open at any moment.

The final stretch

After four hours at a stand-still, traffic began to move again. It was 4 AM. Friends had kept me awake and alert with messages the whole time. But in the time traffic was dead stopped, the roads had completely iced over unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I was dismayed by the thought of getting so close to home and then screwing up by getting stuck by the ice, or worse, in a crash.

There was a graveyard of vehicles littering the roads. I dropped the Forester into low gear and slowly wove around them, inch-by-inch. I found myself having to ease away from people in two-wheel-drive sedans sliding over the ice. They were drifting perilously close to other cars but still wouldn’t stop trying. Clearly exhaustion, frustration, and desperation were running their decisions.

I had long since passed through exhaustion and into calm resolve. My epic road trips had inadvertently prepared me for this. When we got moving again I knew how to get serious, stay focused and alert, and ready to get us home in one piece. I knew I had to take it slowly and respect the icy roads.

I could feel the Forester’s traction control doing its job. It was a sort of automotive ballet she worked her magic, delicately managing power to the wheels up the slippery streets. Fred was awake again by this time. He asked why I was going so slowly. I explained what I knew about driving on ice and pointed to the abandoned cars surrounding us. It was quite the teachable moment. Although, I would have preferred that wasn’t happing at four in the morning.

And then it was over

We tip-toed into our neighborhood ever-so-gingerly at 4:30 AM. A wave of relief washed over me as I turned off the car. I’ve never been so happy to be home. Then came the coexisting surge of emotions—disbelief in actually having made it home along and processing the surreal-ness of what we’d been through in the last 15 hours.

With a little time to mentally synthesize the whole ordeal, I came away with some conclusions:

I got a few things right

• We know how to withstand long stretches in the car. We’ve had a lot of practice that paid off.
• Once we had fuel, staying in the warmth of the car was a good move.
• Getting off the highway saved us. I think my end-story would be quite different had I not gotten off of controlled-access roads.
• I’m glad I gave people a key to my loft. The Disapproving Beagle had long since been rescued from his bladder-busting isolation, removing one stress-point from the night.
• I did have some water, some food, and a significant first-aid kit, which I happily did not have to use to help anyone.
• My Forester is a kick-ass car and may be the best thing I’ve ever bought in my life.

Hard-earned lessons:

• I will be making my own decisions about weather and not relying on government decisions about when I should be on the road and when I shouldn’t. I will carefully assess temperatures, precipitation, and conditions for myself.
• One of the factors in not being able to seek safety outside of a short walking distance from the car was that the kids had trotted out the door in completely inappropriate clothing and footwear. Tired of the constant battle, I let it slide and didn’t insist upon some intelligent choices. I will be fighting that battle from now on.
• I will treat my fuel situation as I would on our road trips and not push it to my limits. A quarter tank is an empty tank. And I’m securing a collapsable gas can that I can keep in the car but still not take up too much of our precious small space.
• Water and non-perishable snacks will be kept in the car at all times, not just by luck. And in larger quantities.

Preparedness

It’s funny how much people worry about me when I take my mondo road trips. Yes, there are always hazards, but when I’m traveling like that I’m actually prepared to handle just about any scenario. I’ve got shelter (tent and sleeping bags), I’ve got food and water, a stove and fuel, and extra clothing. I’m prepared to camp out anywhere for many days.

At home, that’s overkill. Let’s face it, the scenario of being stranded in your own city and unable to reach home is extraordinarily rare. But I will be more prepared, if not ready to camp out for days on end. In a massive-scale shut down like we faced, you simply can’t count on access to basic necessities.

Keeping it real

I’ve always promised I would keep it real here on the blog. I’m going to live up to that because we’re all friends here, right? I’m sure many of you will be uncomfortable with the subject but here it goes.

On top of all of the stressors of our situation that night, I had to contend with being on my period. In the mayhem and traffic snarls, there was no quick stop for bathroom break when needed. When traffic shut down before the bridge in that last stretch towards home, it was past midnight. Nothing would have been open anyway and I was jammed between other cars with no way to move off the road. Not to mention I would be hard-pressed to get back on if I’d tried.

So yep—with the kids asleep in the car and not knowing when I’d be able to take care of myself personal needs again, I had to handle that situation in situ. The fast-food run earlier in the day paid off. I had a disposable drink cup to pee in—and tend to the other task of managing my period. All from the driver’s seat and hoping by some miracle the kids would stay asleep. Who was not asleep was a dude in a large SUV towering over my window in the next lane. He got quite a show. But you’ve gotta do what you gotta do, right?

Big picture—the truth is that this is a reality women face in pursuit of our outdoor adventures. As much of a hassle as it is, we can be prepared even in less-than-ideal conditions. That it came to the forefront of challenges in an emergency urban environment definitely caught me off-guard. Trust me when I say it was one of the worst things to have to contend the whole night.

Blame

A friend asked me if I was angry about the situation like so many other people. Not at all. Our leaders made some bad moves and probably didn’t respond as quickly as they should have but I’m not angry. In the end, I’m responsible for my family’s safety and I didn’t respond very well either. There were countless things I could have done differently from beginning to end that would have had a much better result for us.

Obviously Atlanta needs a serious re-evaluation of its emergency protocols. More importantly though, we have to assess the larger picture of urban sprawl and lthe ack of adequate public transportation that leaves us almost completely reliant upon personal vehicles. We hung ourselves out to dry and we all have a responsibility to be a part of changes that will improve our both our day-to-day and emergency situations. We are not exempt from bad scenarios but we can certainly minimize their impact.

Hometown pride

In spite of the 15-hour ordeal for us, we were extraordinarily fortunate. Obviously, I pushed my luck many times throughout the night. Prudence would have said find a place to stay. Again, that decision wasn’t as easy as it looked to make to folks not on the road living the reality.

In a highly stressful scenario, I’m very proud of Atlantans. I personally would have been much worse off if not for a generous man helping out one person at a time. Most of the drivers were calm and reasonable. People pulled together to help out complete strangers, inviting them into their homes for shelter and safety. Businesses opened up as emergency shelters. I witnessed very few negative situations. I can honestly say the good far outweighed the bad.

Adventure on, friends!