So, after all the kvetching I had to put up with to get my kids up and out on Saturday for the 12 hour drive to Texas, we still didn’t make it. Nope. My getting up at 5 a.m. to get in a quick run, then yelling at the boys to get moving, and finally, bolting out of Los Angeles before the traffic backed up with the millions of people doing whatever it is that they do on the weekends, only got us to Tucson before we had to abandon ship – or car.

The trip was going smoothly. Son 2 and I sang along loudly to the 80’s channel, while Son 1 read a book about Rome and periodically made declarations of political ideology neither Son 2, nor I, understood, or cared about (I mean, come on. You’re going to interrupt Erasure to ask us about the economic infrastructure of Rome right before its collapse and expect us to answer? As if.). We drove and drove, only stopping for gas and my requisite 5 cups of coffee, staying busy with music, unappreciated history lessons, and Son 2’s obsessive need to figure out the exact location of where we would be when McDonald’s began serving lunch.

When we hit Phoenix, Hubz called and said it was really blowing in El Paso. West Texas dust storms are legendary, but nothing compared to the ones between Phoenix and Las Cruces, New Mexico. Every year, these huge dust storms cause massive pileups along I10, and you definitely don’t want to get stuck in one. At the very least, if there is a lot of dust, they will close the road and you will be forced to turn around and drive back to the nearest town for the night (which is usually at least 100 miles away). Hubz said he would keep checking the weather/road conditions while we made our way to Tucson, and then we would make a decision.

A couple of hours later, sitting in Chili’s in Tucson, I discovered this after googling Arizona dust storms:

http://youtu.be/aW_h2pHwXf4

 

I know! I had exactly the same thought as you: “Something that scary is called a haboob? Are you kidding me?”

After I said haboob 27 times, causing my kids to move to a separate table, I called Hubz and told him what I discovered:

Me: We are grounded in Tucson by the potential for a haboob.

Hubz: Okay.

Me: Do you even want to know what I’m talking about?

Hubz: No. I learned a long time ago it was better not to ask. And since whatever it is you’re talking about involves the word “boob”, I’m sure whatever I say will only encourage you to write about it in your blog.

Me: You’re googling “haboob” right now, aren’t you?

Hubz: No, I’m not.

Me: Yes, you are! I can hear you typing!

Hubz: Because I’m working.

Me: No, you’re looking it up. I know it.

Hubz: Just tell me – are you staying in Tucson for the night?

Me: Yes. There is no way I’m getting killed by a haboob. When I die, I want it to be from something cool, like a shark attack, not from something that makes people giggle every time they hear it.

Hubz: Oh my god, just call me when you’re checked into a hotel.

Me: Okay. And maybe by then you’ll thank me.

Hubz: Thank you? For what?

Me: Because I know you’re looking it up, so now I’ve taught you a little Arabic AND kept you from having to tell people your wife was killed by a haboob.

Hubz: If you become any more giving, they will have to make you a saint.

Me: So true.

 

Happy Running!

 

Tagged as: Arizona, driving, dust storm, haboob, Texas