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ON THE FRONT LINES |
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ON THE FRONT LINES WITH… FREAK
by Freak
HURRICANE RITA Freeport, Bahamas Sept. 17-22, 2005
Going anywhere with me is a calculated risk. Usually lots of fun, but loaded with variables of the most twisted nature which can blindside you at any moment.
Leaving the country with me can be downright dangerous, even if you’re going just a few hundred miles off the coast.
Knowing this, we left for the Bahamas out of Midway at 5am Saturday morning after a long night of heavy drinking.
Our friends Jimmy and Melissa joined Tracy and I for our first vacation in nearly four years. The first sign of trouble winked at us when a black cat trotted across our path as we drove down 55th street, a true sign of the ugliness that was yet to come.
Our vacation was rolling along like a trip to a tropical paradise is supposed to, the girls laid out on the beach while Jimmy and I stood in the ocean and drank.
By Monday however, the gentle surf we enjoyed over the weekend had morphed into four to five-foot rollers that mercilessly slammed us into the beach, warning us that even though the skies were blue above us there was something ugly lurking out over the horizon… and that something was Rita.
By Monday night you could feel it in the air. A steady 20mph wind was blowing and even the bartender at Rumrunner’s stopped down-playing the situation and flipped on the Weather Channel to check on tropical storm Rita.
The area was pretty much deserted except for the locals and my companions who, for the most part, were in complete denial over the impending doom. But there was no way in hell I was going to be caught off guard like I was in Puerto Rico.
At that time, I went head to head with Hurricane George in September of ‘98 after going to San Juan to see Van Halen. I spent 3 days with no food, water, or power living in a hotel that was later condemned after the eye of the Category 4 monster roared over us with sustained winds of 145mph.
Anyway...back to the adventure at hand...
As Rita moved closer, we closed the bar and roamed back to the room, but I was anything but tired.
Grabbing a garbage can, I emptied the ice machines on our floor and the floor above us into the bathtub. The ice would keep our liquor cold for the duration of the storm and the melted ice would provide water if we needed it.
The winds picked up as the night gave way to dawn and Rita grew to a Category 1 hurricane.
The outer bands were starting to really kick some ass beating us with 30-40mph winds and rain as we took our daily walk to Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee. Knowing Mother Nature was about to crank up her act, we headed for Rumrunner’s instead to ride out the storm.
We joined nine other folks who were already hunkered down inside for some breakfast. The Weather Channel was covering the storm and our location was silhouetted under the northeastern quarter of the green blob on the screen.
We wouldn’t be taking a direct hit but the action was definitely rolling into our backyard.
The day wore on, with 60mph winds battering the walls of our sanctuary as we watched movies and drank.
It doesn’t sound like much, but next time you’re driving down the expressway stick your head out the window and experience what we endured for roughly seven hours.
The bar’s generator finally ran out of gas plunging us into darkness and forcing us to leave our place of refuge. We made our way back to the hotel through debris-littered streets while Rita belched out her final gasps.
The following morning, we surveyed the damage as we fetched the morning coffee. Tide lines showed the water had come nearly seventy feet up the beach leaving piles of sand and seaweed on the walkways and in the pools. Workers scurried about like rats trying to restore order as the sun slowly returned to deep blue skies.
By the time we left, the island had pretty much recovered from the event. Roads were cleared and debris was stacked with the damaged remains of past storms off to the side. The locals were going about their business as if nothing had ever happened.
I was well rested when we landed back in Chicago and ready to take on the world once again.
Monday the Zone called me while I was riding the train into work. Chicago’s True Oldies had been born and my services were no longer needed.
Another chapter begins. . .
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