Yesterday we drove from Joshua Tree through Yucca Valley, the Wind Belt, Palm Springs, Pasadena, Burbank north to San Francisco, up Interstate 5. Tired of the flat central valley route, we decided to cross over onto highway 152 around 5pm. We cruised through beautiful mountains, heading west towards Gilroy, taking in all that our eyes could see.
It wasn't until we hit a fork in a road that something seemed a bit off. I noticed some traffic lining up in the opposite direction, facing back towards the central Valley. It seemed odd that a line of cars would be backed up on a two lane highway on a Sunday. Having spent the past 9 hours on the road, I let the nagging question dissipate as quickly as the cars in our rear-view mirror.
Five minutes, maybe ten, pass before we curve around the road to a line of four or so cars ahead of us. We see some smoke on the side of the road. All the cars are at a standstill, and people begin opening their doors to step out and see what's going on up ahead. I get out of our car, and walk a few car-lengths up towards the smoke. Immediately I see debris strewn all over the road, and the cab of a big rig engulfed in flames.
The road is populated with women and men attempting to get coverage on their cell phones. Cars ahead of ours begin to turn around and drive towards the way they came from. At this time, I see only spectators and assume survivors are being cared for, driven away by invisible ambulances. If we are to turn around, the traffic we are to encounter will hold us back several hours. I wonder if we can't clear the debris and move around the wreckage.
I wave to Joel to get out of the car. Irrationally, I am still questioning whether or not we should move through the debris or clean it up enough to let us and other cars pass. Joel leaves our car and walks towards me. As he does so his eyes widen. I am closer now, to the people, the helpers, the debris and the flames. My heard turns toward a voice across from the flames. A man is checking the pulse of another who is laying before him, motionless. "He's not breathing," is all the kneeling man says.
Suddenly, the fire takes on a life of its own. It gets angry, it makes noises, popping sounds and a woman screams at the top of her lungs to cars and people coming towards her "GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS A FULL TANK OF GAS AND IS GOING TO BLOW UP!"
People scatter quickly, a woman crash-survivor hobbles on her good leg, arm across a stranger away from the scene. Flames increase, smoke billowing, Joel and I race back to our car where I pull the fastest u-turn ever and peel away, fearful of the coming explosion.
