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ON THE ROAD WITH... FREAK HURRICANE
ISABEL @ OCEAN CITY, MD –
9/19/03
Things got rolling
with an offhand remark that mushroomed into a full-blown adventure. We
were discussing Hurricane Isabel
and what she was doing to the Eastern Coast, when I suggested going to our
affiliate in Virginia for a hurricane party. Cow offered to pay for the ticket and twenty
minutes later I was jumping into a cab and heading for Midway. I recalled
the lessons I learned in Puerto Rico during my battle with Hurricane
George back in ’98, so I had a vague idea as to what was ahead of
me, but went anyway. The landing was worse
than I could have possibly imagined.
We were tossed around like Lotto balls during our descent and I was
amazed the pilot didn’t abort the attempt and head north.
Two of the thirteen other passengers on board hurled filling the
cabin with the stench of vomit as we bounced down the runway in a driving
rain. A frazzled driver with
a fully stocked Lincoln Town Car sent by my friend Layton was waiting for me in Baltimore. “I had a bitch of a time finding that crap for you.” He
muttered pointing at the cooler. It was Dogfish Head Ale, a local beer I
fell in love with while there in the Spring and Layton had insisted it be
in the car for me. “Thanks
bro.” I answered as he stepped on the gas and pulled away. We were four hours
into our journey when the sun disappeared plunging us into total darkness.
The outer bands of the storm were pummeling us pretty good now and
there was no power anywhere from traffic lights or buildings to help us
navigate our way south. Dodging
debris and barreling through standing water, we sheepishly drove the
unfamiliar roads of Maryland at a mere thirty miles an hour. We caught a break as
we entered Ocean City, a snowplow was clearing the street of branches and
lawn furniture so we followed along the freshly cleaned path.
The lights of
Layton’s bar Seacrets were
shining brightly against the dark nothingness that surrounded it.
He had purchased a generator large enough to run the place for
fourteen days and it was the only joint with power for miles.
I jumped out of the car into ninety mile-an-hour winds and fought
my way through knee deep water in the parking lot to get to the door.
Halfway there, I was cracked in the shoulder with a sizable chunk
of lumber and nearly bought it right then and there. The Atlantic was
pounding the beach along the bar mercilessly and it was determined that
the lighthouse would be the best place to ride out the storm. We dragged
coolers full of food and alcohol up the spiraling, six-story staircase to
the top of the tower where I prayed the tempered glass would hold against
the forces of nature. All
through the night we drank as the wind howled outside and the waves
crashed into the building sometimes shaking it so violently that the beer
bottles would bounce from the table.
The storm continued
its assault until just before dawn. Slowly
the noise died down until we worked up the nerve to venture out into the
thirty mile-an-hour winds. Debris
was scattered all around us but the waves had calmed down considerably and
the sun was shining brightly. “Looks
like we made it,” Layton chirped as we stepped over a downed palm tree
outside the door of our sanctuary and headed for the bar’s courtyard.
“Let’s restart the generator and get the beer chilled, I bet we
can be open by four.” “Christ”
I replied, “who the hell is gonna show up after a night like that?”
“Everyone,” he laughed, “this is the only place with juice in
the county brother and once the sun goes down it’ll be their only
option.” Above us, a waverunner
sat perched atop the roof of one of the bars next to the AC unit.
“I think I’ll leave that right where it is,” he laughed.
“I’ll just have to make sure it won’t fall on some drunk asshole’s
head.” He was right, he was
the only game in town and if you didn’t want to spend another evening in
total darkness, you’d be sitting here rehashing storm stories with your
friends. He had beaten the
storm hands down and, at least for now, was gonna win the game. |
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This
story begins like many of the others I tell, huddled in four by six room
with a cooler full of beer, as mother nature batters the outside of my
sanctuary with hundred mile-an-hour winds in a valiant attempt to take my
life.