NeverGoingBack

As with most things, it starts with the sun. Sunlight heats ocean waters, causing currents. One such current flows through the Gulf of Mexico, and its heat energy warms the air above, generating convection in the atmosphere. The convection intensifies, causing a massive category five hurricane off the coast of the United States — a region responsible for satisfying much of the nation's energy demands. As the Texas coast prepared for Hurricane Rita's approach in the fall of 2005, people were reminded that energy is everything.

With Hurricane Katrina's devastation of Louisiana and nearby areas only three weeks earlier, the nation's fuel refining capacity already strains under the demand. Gas prices had recently returned to the reasonable. upper $2 range following the $3 or more charged shortly after Katrina. Now, a more powerful storm bears down upon the Gulf Coast and threatens more oil and natural gas platforms as well as the majority of the Texas coast's refineries — refineries responsible for approximately one quarter of the nation's oil processing. To the rest of the country, this second storm drives up costs of gasoline and heating fuel as the winter months appear on the horizon. For millions of residents of Harris county and its surroundings, however, the immediate concern was evacuation — an evacuation that required fuel.

Experts forecasted Hurricane Rita's landfall for late Friday evening or early Saturday morning, but as early as Wednesday afternoon area residents found gasoline in short supply; lines and waits of varying lengths greeted thirsty vehicles where fuel was found, and even then one might have little choice but to accept one of the higher octane, costlier blends. By Thursday morning, a fueling station that both remained open for business and had gas to sell became even more rare and many resigned that they could either leave the area with the gas they had or take shelter wherever it could be found. Those choosing to make their escape found more long lines on the main north- and west-bound expressways out of the area — they were anything but express. Officials estimated that northbound Interstate 45, connecting Houston to Dallas, was packed to capacity in a gridlock spanning 100 miles. The other official inland evacuation routes, Interstate 10 west to San Antonio and US highway 290 to Austin, faced a similar lack of mobility. Even non-official routes, such as northbound US-59, were bound to fill and slow to a crawl. As reported by local and state officials, an evacuation of this magnitude has never been attempted before.

As an evacuee myself, I left at what I assumed was a reasonable time — Thursday morning — for a storm scheduled to make landfall 36 or more hours later. I knew the highways were packed, but I was headed just west of San Antonio on a drive that would normally take four hours. Certainly a safety factor of nine would be enough, or so I thought. I recently purchased a 2005 Toyota Prius — a hybrid that uses both gas and electric energy to maximize efficiency and minimize emissions, maximizing my miles-per-gallon as a result. With my energy-efficient vehicle, I wasn't overly concerned about my fuel capacity; I had most of a full tank and this trip should normally use just over a half. As the day progressed, so would my worries.

Houston Transtar provides real-time traffic data via their website and I had been monitoring this Wednesday afternoon, evening, and night. Traffic on all the major outbound freeways showed as red (less than 20 miles per hour) or gray (no data, probably because the system could not calculate data for such slow-moving traffic). I knew I wasn't going to make much progress if I tried to take Interstate 10 directly, so I headed out on surface streets, attempting to move as far west as possible, parallel with I-10 before merging onto the highway. The surface streets were heavy with traffic, but manageable. When they finally slowed to such a pace that they were no longer attractive routes, I tried making my way via Farm-to-Market roads only to find those too were packed and hardly moving at all. Some drivers lost hope or decided to explore other routes but, unable to backtrack, jumped a curb and drove along grassy terrain and fence lines, hoping to find a clear path to a nearby residential road and more possibilities.

One needed only to witness this evacuation to reaffirm, without a doubt, that Texas is the SUV and large truck capital of the world. Those that come to mind immediately are the Hummers, Excursions, Tahoes, and the CR-Vs — the list goes on — and they were everywhere. To their advantage, they have a large carrying capacity for people, cargo, and towing. (By comparison, Toyota rates my Prius for a mere 800 total pounds.) All were packed to the headliner with possessions, people, and pets. Tailgate doors were up and passenger windows were down as occupants sought relief from the unseasonably high temperatures — reaching into the high 90s by mid-afternoon. A woman stopped ahead of me and exited the green Honda CR-V containing her young daughter to ask if she could risk opening the radiator cap of an overheating engine. I strongly recommended against it, but her husband returned (a common pastime was sending a passenger on foot to view the situation up the road) and decided to attempt to add water to the engine; as traffic began to creep forward, I and those behind me were forced to squeeze past the distressed family and wish them luck.

By one thirty or so that afternoon, approximately three hours after getting in the car, I had traveled a cumulative 17 miles and was still well inside the greater Houston area. Such immobility raises blood pressure and frustrations during your usual weekday rush hour traffic but, with the approaching hurricane (what was then a category five storm) on everyone's minds, the sheer calmness of families on these clogged evacuation routes speaks to the effect desperation and determination can have in such a situation. Rich or poor; black, white, or not; the class lines were blurred. At first glance you saw a sea of vehicles, moving sequentially a few feet at a time, minutes apart; however, it wasn't merely a conglomeration of cars pointing the same direction. There was a sense of community, though your neighbors changed frequently; people did what they could to help others in need, when it was possible. A few hours and meters later, Houston public radio announced that the department of transportation successfully converted the eastbound lanes of Interstate 10 into contra-flow lanes, allowing the full width of the highway for westward travel. Similar reversal was also accomplished on northbound I-45. The announcement of this news meant it was time to abandon alternate routes, get on the major thoroughfare, and start putting some miles between my car and Houston. In the words of the Blues Brothers, Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration, don't fail us now.

At this point I started relying upon the dynamic routing and detour features of the DVD-based GPS navigation system built into the Prius. Previously, I instructed it to go to certain waypoints, avoiding major highways. Now I commanded, Get me to San Antonio as fast as you know how, knowing it would seek I-10. After a quick search, the computer informed me I was 1.8 miles from the first turn that would take me zigzagging through a Houston suburb and, ultimately, to the I-10 access road. On the way, traffic was light and free-flowing; a stark contrast to the parking lot-like conditions of the previous hours. The navigation software took me past approximately eight gas stations; most were closed, the rest had no customers, and none had gas. Even then, I was hoping my own fuel situation wouldn't become a critical issue. After all, I had been sitting in virtually motionless traffic for hours and the Prius's hybrid drive train was keeping me quite efficient.

The onboard battery pack and electric motors were key to my standstill efficiency; they effortlessly nudged the car to keep pace with the bumper ahead. After a while this drained the batteries; the Prius isn't designed to run for long distances or extended time on battery power alone — but that's exactly what it had been trying to do. Its programming avoided engine use to achieve its primary goal of minimal emissions. Eventually, the battery's charge became too low for the software's other function: protecting the life of the battery from deep discharge. At that point, the engine started immediately when I released the brake; it was using gas to run the engine, providing electricity for the motors and recharging the battery briefly until it was time to brake and stop the engine a few seconds later. The car provides feedback to its passengers regarding fuel consumption as both a tank average and a mileage chart in five minute increments over the last half hour. Since we spent so much time not moving at all, the five minute chart was mostly useless to me. My tank average, however, was dropping to 42 MPG when it had been around 45 MPG before I left. As it was a tank average and it was continuing to drop, I knew that I was getting less than 42 MPG while sitting in this traffic. I can only imagine how much fuel was wasted by the normal cars around me with their idling engines; of course, many had no choice if it was running an air conditioner to keep children and the elderly from experiencing heat-induced health issues.

Still, by the time I found Interstate 10, traffic was gridlocked yet again. Frustration only mounted as the overpass loomed in the distance where we could see fast-moving traffic in the formerly eastbound lanes. Approaching the interchange about twenty minutes later, it became clear that the only access at this point was to the gridlocked westbound lanes. What about the eastbound lanes open for westbound traffic?! I turned east on the access road toward Houston, hoping to find where these people already on I-10 had found a way onto these empty lanes. Mile after mile, all I could find were official Texas Department of Transportation trucks blocking entrance and exit ramps — preventing us from using that part of the highway. The one time I wished I had a truck or SUV was when I saw those vehicles jumping the curb and crossing over to the lanes anyway. Normally in heavy traffic I scorn such drivers, but in this case I say more power to them. Why on earth was TxDOT preventing us from entering an exit ramp and merging onto the empty westbound lanes? There's no excuse for that. If the Prius had more than four inches or so of ground clearance, I would've been over that curb and onto the highway alongside them. Alas, I was stuck on the access road and one of the officials informed me they were allowing people access, officially, back at highway 6 — even closer to Houston. So off I went.

Line after line formed at every intersection, at every access ramp, with people hoping to gain access to the I-10 pavement that could carry them out of the greater Houston area. In each case our only options were to continue toward Houston or attempt to merge onto the full westbound lanes. It was at this point, around 5:30 PM, that I realized I would run out of fuel within sight of Houston if I continued to listen to what officials told me. I hate to put it like that; the area evacuation was largely a success and could have been much, much worse. Still, I see very little excuse for restricting entrances to the escape route so severely; people should have been allowed to enter ramps wherever possible. Resigned to my situation and with few alternative options, I decided to fight my own way west in a battle that would test the capabilities of my little hybrid and its GPS navigation system.

I found more suburb roads that led me to 36; I don't know if it's a state highway or a county road, but I didn't care at the time. It led me north-northwest toward US-290, one of the other evacuation routes that I knew faced similar conditions to those of Interstate 10. My concern at this point was putting distance between Houston and myself, and waiting in a long line 20 or more miles to the northwest sounded infinitely better than waiting in a long line where I was. Along the way, I slowed and took long looks at every gas station I approached, looking for an oasis of fuel.

Shortly before reaching 290, I stopped at one of the convenience stores. Roughly 30 vehicles spanned its parking lot and fueling areas, their passengers walking around or lounging in chairs, waiting for who knows what. I had a good idea, but I knew refueling trucks wouldn't be stopping by for quite some time. Some were out of gas and some might have simply been taking a break. I decided it was time to use a restroom and purchase some supplies. I left the apartment with a pizza I put into the oven while I packed and a half carton of Mountain Dew cans for caffeine (I don't drink coffee). After sitting in the car for eight hours in the heat, I needed more than carbonated beverages. Walking into the store, I noticed which items people purchased. Some bought essential deodorant or food. Some browsed for antifreeze or motor oil. Ice was in high demand and short supply. And much to my amusement, there were a good number purchasing cases of beer; if they couldn't find gas to go elsewhere, they planned to have a good time where they were. The whole situation reminded me of The Grapes of Wrath. As for myself, I used the facilities and purchased four large bottles of Gatorade, downing one almost immediately upon returning to the car. The determination and focus on leaving the Houston area distracted me completely; I hadn't noticed my state of dehydration until that moment. This is why it was so important to bring water to those stranded individuals along the highways; by the time they would realize they needed water, they would already be well on their way to serious dehydration — especially young children and the elderly. With my thirst satisfied it was time to take on 290, a few hundred yards away, and my fuel gauge showed half a tank remaining.

As I expected, 290 barely moved — though it might have been moving faster than 10 at the time. Unlike 10, however, the state refused to open the opposite lanes for additional capacity due to safety concerns; there were simply too many access points to the road to guarantee no one would enter the roadway and cause a head-on collision. That being the case, drivers tended to use all other available road surface to their advantage: both lanes, the westbound access road, and the shoulder. As with jumping curbs, I don't care for drivers who assume they have a higher need than others just to justify passing the standing traffic using the shoulder. In this case, I didn't mind a bit and even joined them — it had nothing to do with being in more of a hurry or having more need; it was all about distance. Using the shoulder meant increasing the capacity of the roadway by 50 percent, and that was good for me and anyone else behind; it made room for more cars to move forward. At every opportunity I was scanning the roads ahead on the DVD map, in a couple cases I found small local roads that allowed me to leap frog over the stationary traffic by substituting extra miles on my route. A few miles closer to my destination and the chance to actually drive above three miles per hour were worth it — and it was more fuel efficient, too.

Night fell and the temperature began to drop. It was easy to see the spirits rise along the highway as the stranded travelers cooled down in the evening breeze. With the exceptions of young and elderly passengers that I mentioned before, most people used common sense and ran their vehicle air conditioners as little as possible during the evacuation, trying to conserve every last drop of gasoline, and I was no exception. The Prius has an electric compressor so it doesn't require the gasoline engine to cool the cabin air, but I still needed to save all the energy I could. Even as efficient as it is, the air conditioner could easily drain my battery in a matter of minutes, and that would require burning more gas to recharge it. As I crawled along the highway with my windows down, I approached a family that set up camp along the roadway. They were asking passing drivers for something — I couldn't tell what, exactly, since they never asked me directly — and as I silently rolled past their chairs one called out to me, Buddy, you've got the right car. I could only wave behind me in response; he was right, but that wasn't the time to be smug about it. Instead, I concentrated on reducing my energy demands even more, going so far as to turn off my headlights when I was in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. I didn't need the headlights to see a bumper five inches in front of me, and my parking lights were enough to mark the car's boundaries for other drivers' eyes. All the while, my eyes glanced at the gas gauge.

No matter what you drive, the best way to save energy in a vehicle is to know what's going on under the hood at all times. Thanks to multiple Internet sources and user groups, I knew that the Prius was most efficient at 42 miles per hour and below. At those speeds, electric-only operation is possible with a sufficient battery charge — and the engine could quickly charge the battery if it dropped too low. At every opportunity that presented free-flowing traffic I set cruise control in the 40-42 MPH range. Higher than that and the details of the hybrid drive train would require the engine to spin, even if it wasn't firing the cylinders and adding power to the wheels. The energy to spin that extra mass was a waste, and I wanted to avoid it. I caused a lot of traffic to pass me on these open roads; they traveled closer to the speed limit, but this wasn't a race about speed. I left plenty of passing room in these cases, so I wasn't much of a safety obstacle, just an inconvenience. My tactic was to maximize the mileage out of the gas I had; they might have been going faster, but I'd be the one to find gas if I could travel farther than the others. I couldn't help but smile when I switched to the computer's consumption screen and found I was getting 50 miles to the gallon on the low side and upwards of 78 for extended periods. I even climbed continuous hills at 50 MPG and at times the display indicated I was using electric power only, even coasting (gliding in Prius-speak) for moments going uphill! The car was absolutely amazing!

Eventually my leap frog hops on and off US-290 came to an end; I could no longer find roads that went in the direction I needed. I recalled the announcements of promised fuel along the major highways as I glanced at the fuel gauge. It showed a mark or two below half a tank, and I knew I still had a couple hundred miles ahead of my final destination. Running out of fuel was still a distinct possibility at this rate and, if it was going to happen, I wanted to be in a location where fuel might eventually arrive. As far as I knew, no emergency fuel was destined for 290 and that meant turning south to try my luck again with Interstate 10. In two tenths of a mile I made a left turn onto a dark, narrow road.

I'm certain the drivers around me thought I was crazy, but my navigation system promised the detour would help me get through. I was driving on back country roads, some barely wide enough for two cars. These were roads known only by locals since they were too small to appear on the highway maps used by most everyone else. I went over low water crossing bridges, turned on unlit streets, and trusted my fate to poorly maintained, unmarked roads and a voice from my left speaker that told me, In a quarter of a mile, left turn. At one point I reached a small town where evacuees from another route trailed through the city's main thoroughfare. Unfortunately, their route crossed the path I wanted to take and local law enforcement barricaded all cross streets. The navigation system came to the rescue again as it displayed my current location among the maze of residential roads that would let me bypass the cross traffic. On this one day, the GPS navigation option paid for itself with its reliability and the peace of mind it provided — it was my oracle of escape. Without it, I was stranded on the road just like everyone else. At last the voice announced, Your destination is ahead, and I could see the glow of tail lights on the horizon as they crawled on I-10.

Unbelievable. The number of cars was staggering. For as far as the eye could see, this river of vehicles glowed red and cut through the darkness of night. Cars trickled forward in the westbound lanes, the eastbound lanes, the shoulders, and both access roads. On the left and right of each were more cars; they pulled aside for whatever reason. Broken down, overheated, out of gas, or simply exhausted, these cars weren't going anywhere soon. I knew the refueling trucks were destined for the four rest stop locations between Houston and San Antonio, but at the sight of all these cars I knew that their effort would be futile in the short term. The thirst for gasoline was insatiable, and no feasible quantity of tanker trucks could get this mass moving any time soon. The cars here moved no faster than those I'd left on 290 and, if I ran out of gas, I'd be just as stuck. My only option was to keep moving.

At Columbus, I jogged over to US-90 and headed northwest again. This road would lead to state highway 71 that leads directly to Austin. To my great surprise, 71 was mostly empty — no worse than one would expect on such a road during heavy weekend traffic. I set cruise control again and off I went. There were a couple slowdowns along the way, and many stranded cars. As I came closer and closer to Austin I searched for fueling stations that weren't packed with cars waiting for someone to refill their tanks, but they were all out as I had expected. Only three out of the ten bars on my fuel gauge remained lit and it had been that way for quite some time. I told myself that I would pull over and wait at a gas station when the meter showed only two bars — I wanted enough gas to move the car for a handful of miles should the need arise. And then, before I knew it, I reached the Austin city limits. Refugees were directed onto highway 183 and once I passed that interchange it appeared that I was the only vehicle on the road at 2:30 AM.

Soon I came across an Exxon station with gasoline and a wave of relief rushed across my body. They only had premium, but I was just happy to find it. The car took a mere 9.33 gallons for a cost of about $27. It seems like I had at least another gallon and a half in the tank; that might have been enough to make it to my destination, but I wasn't going to pass such a precious opportunity to refuel. From then on, I was alone on the roadways as I navigated US-290, US-281, and TX-16 southwest to my family's home west of San Antonio. Safe at last, I pulled into the driveway at 4:30 AM — 18 hours after departing my Houston apartment. It seemed like forever. It seemed like I drove on every road in the state. I knew I was one of the lucky ones, and I thanked the car for making it through.

For those interested, here's a summary of my trip details:

I started my evacuation with 214.5 miles on the current tank and refilled in Austin after an additional 227.1 miles. The lowest fuel economy I saw was about 38.2 MPG. My average consumption was around 45 MPG when I left Houston and I pulled into Austin at 52 MPG — yes, my average went up over the course of the evacuation even with the hours of crawling less than 5 miles per hour. I had three out of the ten bars left on the gas gauge, though I imagine the tank level was closer to only two. The car took 9.337 gallons at $2.87/gal. By the time I reached my final destination I had put on an additional 100 miles at 51.1 MPG for a total 327.3 mile evacuation route and 3432 miles on my odometer since purchase.

Thank you Toyota! Had I not had the Prius, under similar circumstances I would have been stranded somewhere in central Texas. I love this car!