Tornado Season in Tornado Alley
Severe storms encroach on a quiet town’s famed roadside attraction: Carhenge of Alliance, Nebraska.
5/26/18. Memorial Day Weekend. Northwestern Nebraska.
It was late afternoon when I came to a T in the road. Make a right towards clear skies and get to the hotel in a mere 45 minutes. Or, make a left towards adventure, wonder, endless possibilities, ominous skies, a cool, car art installation in the middle of nowhere, and another 2+ hours to the hotel. I'll give you one guess which route I chose. It was quite literally the (side of the) road less traveled. No cars in front of or behind me. Only cars headed in the opposite direction, toward sunshine. But heading east on NE-2, the winds blew loud and strong, and it didn't take long for that clear sky I bypassed to be completely out of sight.
As I kept on ramblin' on down Dodge Road, Alliance-bound, exhilarated, jamming to Led Zeppelin, the sky grew darker, and the Red Cross Tornado app was the first of several to alert me to the potentially wild weather I was headed for. I pulled into the Carhenge parking lot with a full bladder and a gut instinct nagging that I probably shouldn't stick around long, and I definitely shouldn't whip out my metal selfie stick to take pictures next to giant metal cars standing tall in an open field. Inside the picture-perfect pitstop, Colleen was happy to greet me at the counter. We chatted for a bit, I signed her guestbook, and I couldn't help but ask if she was at all concerned about the impending storm. She glanced out the window at the charcoal sky, but she replied cooler than a fresh fountain soda, "Na, I'm sure it'll be nothin'." She went on to tell me about the emergency underground shelter beneath the pitstop and how it was there in case we'd ever need it, but she admitted it's anything but cozy, being covered in cobwebs and swarming with spiders.
“So what's worse – driving through a tornado or being locked up with icky things that crawl?" We laughed and agreed we'd take tornadoes over creepy crawlers any day. And just then, a massive clap of thunder made us gasp, wide-eyed then we giggled some more. We were audibly on the verge of a severe storm, yet I walked out into the wild gray yonder feeling fantastic. It was the combination of the clouds clashing and clamoring, lightning touching down in the distance, and the lovely encounter I had with a perfect stranger, I may never meet again. That's one of the things I love about traveling alone. It opens you up to meeting all kinds of friendly folks you might not have met if you'd been gabbing with a pal. So there I was, standing surrounded by big gray cars, staged to replicate the ancient monolithic site called Stonehenge in the high plains of the Nebraska Panhandle. One family scurried back to their car and another into the pitstop. I let that beautiful feeling of serene exhilaration, wash over me. I felt so alive. But the clouds were churning quicker and I knew it was time to ride. I made it about a mile down the road before the rain came. And deeper into the darkness I drove. Lightning cracked the sky in every direction. Not just straight down like I was used to seeing. These electric streaks shot across the sky from east to west, north to south, and the thunder boomed simultaneously above me. Heavy rain blew sideways and head-on, visibility was extremely low, and every time an 18-wheeler passed me on the other side of the two-lane road, I had to grip my wheel hard to steady the car. By this point, my inner storm chaser was hiding in a bunker, sucking her thumb, rocking back and forth, and ready to curl up with Netflix, a blankie, and room service. But having several cars and pick-up trucks in front of and behind me was comforting. I guess I figured, "well, these guys are on the road, so maybe it's not so crazy to be out in this – maybe this is normal weather – maybe I'm just not used to it." Flash flood warnings escalated to tornado watches, heavy rain intensified to hail and debris, and soon tree branches and fence planks were airborne.
The sky roared loud above me and massive bolts streaked far and wide, illuminating the wreckage below. It was loud as hell. I could barely hear Fats Domino singing about finding his thrill on Blueberry Hill anymore. My heart was racing, it was taking a lot of strength to keep the car moving straight on the road, and I had all these fearful, huddled cows and horses weighing heavy on my mind. It was the longest 85-minute drive of my life from Carhenge to Scottsbluff. Once I turned off of US-26 W, I was in the home stretch. Feeling good. Marriott-bound and ready for room service. Nothing could slow me down now! Except for the several feet of water burying the road my hotel was on. The road should've been closed. Hell, it might've been closed, but my shockingly amphibious Nissan Altima swam beautifully for about a mile till I reached the hotel's front awning. I pulled under it alongside several other cars, all hoping to be semi-protected from the elements, but we were all soaked in seconds unloading in the sideways rain. At check-in, I learned that the hotel was running on a generator so certain computer functions weren't working, like issuing keys, making purchases, and there was no room service. Eventually, I ended my night with a complimentary, microwavable DiGiorno pizza and some Twilight Zone in a king-size bed. A lovely ending to an awesome adventure. All in a days drive in Tornado Season in Tornado Alley.