Like many a Bay Area resident, I'd made the drive down I5 to the Los Angeles basin and back dozens and dozens of times. Sure, the once 5.5 hour drive before we had kids has stretched to about seven hours with all the potty breaks and caffeine refueling we now have to do, but it's generally an uneventful drive. Besides, I love road trips.
I should have taken the downpour of rain as an ominous sign. I'd made a last minute decision to throw rain boots, rain jackets and warmer clothes into the car, just in case . As I pulled our once spartan mini van come Grapes of Wrath truck onto the highway, rain was coming down in torrents. I drove cautiously over Pacheco Pass and was passed by just about everyone.
By the time we closed our vents near the stinky cows, the rain had ceased. As we approached the roadside town of Buttonwillow, the sky again grew dark ahead of us. But this time, it wasn't a rainstorm we were entering, it was a dust storm. That's right, move over Tule fog, make way for a blinding dust storm! I could barely see but 20 feet ahead of me and it was a harrowing, white knuckle drive at slow speed until we finally passed through it. I hadn't known how to drive through a dust storm. Pulling over didn't seem wise, the shoulder was too narrow. Had I pulled over, I might have turned on my headlights which, after a bit of research, is what you shouldn't do because other drivers, seeking a car to follow, might not realize you're stationary. There were two serious accidents, one deadly, due to dust storms on I5 last year. After passing through the dust storm, I kind of missed the familiarity of rain.
At the Iron Skillet rest stop at the foot of the Grapevine, wind had blown the power out. All the gas stations were closed.
Onward we went, up and over the Grapevine and into the LA Basin, finally arriving in Anaheim that evening. The following day was spent at Disneyland under cool skies and sparse crowds. It ought to have been wonderful but one of my sons was misbehaving and Grandma couldn't take the whining and her feet couldn't take the walking. My scaredy cat son refused to go on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride so at my suggestion, we headed for what turned out to be a far more terrifying experience for him on the Indiana Jones Adventure. I'd thought it was a jeep ride. Our Disneyland trip was a big fail.
Twenty four hours later, we were back on the road heading home up interstate 5. We were all tired and there was much whining but eventually, we reached the home stretch which, to me, is the I5/152 interchange at Los Banos. I could even see it up ahead!
Then suddenly, we heard a flapping sound. "Are you driving on the rumble strip?" my mother asked me. If only it had been that simple.
As the air hissed from the front passenger tire, I pulled the car into the right shoulder. There was nowhere to go. To the left, big rig after big rig rumbled by, a mere four feet from our car. I glance their way nervously, hoping there were no distracted big rig drivers using cell phones. I moved both of my kids and their car seats to the right side of the car and latched them in. My children were being well behaved but my anxiety level was sky high, as was my mother's.
My mom called AAA who pronounced our situation a high priority call and sent both a tow truck and a CHP patrol car our way. As we waited for help to arrive, I did what I usually do when I'm stressed. I cleaned the interior of the car, picking up toys and books and repacking food. A very nice tow truck guy soon arrived and showed us where the spare tire was located (I'd always wondered!) and recommended that we not drive all the way home on the "donut" tire.
My mom called the tire center at the Los Banos Walmart to see if they had the right size tire in stock (they did). I could tell her anxiety was still sky high because she told the Walmart tire mechanic the important fact that she'd been a AAA member since 1968.
Did I mention that my very tired son cried and kicked the back of the seat all the way from Gilroy to San Jose?
We got home so late, I didn't have the heart to wake my boys and rush them off to school the next morning. We finally arrived at school an hour late and I was startled to see the cars of the classroom volunteer parents still parked along the street. I'd thought literacy centers had ended the week prior and they had, but for only one of my sons. The other son's class had one additional week of centers. I blame the dreaded Wednesday folder and its reams of paper communication for my confusion.
I guess it could have been worse. We could have had a flat tire in a dust storm next to the stinky cows!
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