Photo Credit: Joe Strupek

It was the afternoon of the first day of my road trip to Montana. I fly there more than I drive, but when I checked the cost of flights and cars a few months before, I decided it was cheaper to take the truck. That was before gas rose sharper than a Ginsu knife, cutting budgets like the famous knife slices tomatoes, but I forged ahead. I don't mind the two-day drive. I listen to podcasts and audiobooks and sing along with Willie and Waylon. 

I checked the weather along the route during the day. There were some thunderstorms predicted, and it didn't look like I'd catch a break from the high temperatures until I got to the western side of South Dakota. So, windows up, A/C cranked, and listening to a forensic detective tell how he hunted down the Golden State Killer, I tooled along. 

Living in the Midwest, I'm used to weather alerts. There are plenty of tornado warnings and watches, wind advisories, nasty thunderstorms, and winter blasts. On the first Tuesday of every month, the town tests its warning sirens. This is why the weather alert that came across the phone didn't immediately alarm me. Then I read it. (The phone is mounted on the dash so I can safely see the screen.). Earlier I noticed storm clouds far off to my right and assumed it was a thunderstorm. It was. But the word "destructive" capitalized in the warning caught my attention. The National Weather Service predicted ninety mile an hour winds and said to take shelter in a sturdy building, away from windows. People who didn’t take shelter were in danger of flying debris. 

I approached an exit but didn't see any buildings, so I kept moving along. The storm that was once coming slowly from far off in the distance was now nearly on top of us. The clouds were clearly brown, not grey, or black. I looked for the tell-tale funnel of a tornado and was relieved not to see one. The relief quickly gave way to alarm when the wall of dirt started to overcome us. Everyone pulled to the berm. The first thing I did was what you're expected to do in these situations. I took a picture with my phone. (It accompanies this post and shows the dirt cloud crossing in front of me.) Then the dust and dirt fully enveloped us, and visibility decreased to the truck's hood. It rocked against the gusts of wind. 

Then the second thing I did was wonder what the hell I was supposed to do. I've heard you should get out of your car and lie flat in a ditch if you're caught in a tornado. I wasn't sure this was a tornado, and getting out of the car in the middle of a dust storm along a four-lane highway didn't seem prudent. You can search the internet for these things, but Google wasn't top of mind. I did think about flying monkeys and an old woman on a bicycle.  The damn Wizard of Oz has haunted me all my life. Fortunately, the storm lasted a short time, and in a few minutes the dust started to clear. Not entirely, but enough where it was safe to move forward. A car went by, then another. I followed along at a slow speed and with hazard lights flashing. The weather radar showed a thunderstorm overhead and another wide band of storms close behind. 

I took the next exit and found myself on the outskirts of Luverne, Minnesota. I learned later Luverne was one of four towns profiled in the Ken Burns documentary, The War. I’d also forgotten it was the setting for the second season of Fargo. Right now, it was shelter. I spotted a restaurant. The 75 Diner was to be my port in this storm. 

Forty-five minutes and possibly the best grilled chicken wrap I've ever eaten later, I was back on the highway. The storms were gone. As I drove west, every few miles an eighteen-wheelers on its side, metal siding and roofing caught in fences, and mangled highway signs, I learned what I'd experienced. A derecho. A straight-line windstorm accompanied by fast-moving thunderstorms. The winds in some areas exceeded 100 miles per hour. Two people died. Both in cars. One when a tree fell on it, the other by a chunk of wood that crashed through a window.   

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The Golden State Killer was caught through the creative use of DNA and a genealogy website; me, Willie, and Waylon belted out Goodhearted Woman in the early morning hours somewhere in Wyoming, and my truck stop breakfast of a cheese stick and a hardboiled egg was a letdown after the 75 Diner's chicken wrap. 

Before the return trip, I checked to see what to do in a car during a dust storm. Pull over to a stop and stay belted. It's also recommended you turn your lights off so someone doesn't think it's the flow of traffic and run into you. From what I saw, we all left them on along with our hazard lights. But there was a line of us along the highway. Maybe that was okay. To be safe, I also checked to see what you should do if you're caught in a car during a tornado. I remembered correctly. You should exit the car if you can get to an area lower than the highway. Or you can remain in the car, seat belted, your head below the window, covering it with your hands or a blanket. It seems like that would be a good one for a derecho too. 

Then I checked the hours for the 75 Diner. The drive home would have another true crime book, a few podcasts, and me and the boys singing Mama Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys. But no chicken wrap. 

Maybe next time. If I can convince the pilot to make a stop at the Luverne Municipal Airport.