Like most people in Tampa Bay, I spent all day Friday and part of Saturday waiting for Frances to make up her mind. I was up late on the web, looking at various path projections and trying to make a plan. The one thing I noticed on all the forecasts was that the Naples area wasn't going to get much of Frances' action. So I decided to drive to Naples in the afternoon and wait until it was safe to drive across Alligator Alley.
From the moment I left at 2:40 p.m. it seemed like Frances was chasing my tail. Dark and defined squall lines were coming from the east and driving toward them on I-4 made the RV sway a lot. It doesn't take much to get this big wall on wheels rocking. I began to feel as if my plan was not as good as I thought.
Once I made the turn south onto I-75 things calmed down a bit and driving was easier. I was surprised to see so many cars on the road and even saw two convertibles with the top down. Maybe hurricane winds make the convertible experience extra-special.
The sky in front of me was pretty clear, as was the sky to the west. But looking in my side view mirrors the dark anger of Frances was more and more visible, giving me a desire to drive faster each time I looked.
Going through the Punta Gorda area I was reminded of Charley's damage once again. Rows and rows of damaged homes have their roofs covered by bright-blue tarps to protect what's left. I'm sure the folks in Charlotte County are relieved that Frances will not unleash her total wrath on them so soon after Charley.
Further south, near Fort Myers, a 50- to 60-foot-tall pine tree had fallen across the interstate, completely covering the right lane going south. As I slowed to carefully pass it, I marveled that a car was not struck by it. Then later my wife told me that a tree had fallen on someone on Memorial Highway in Tampa. Those big sycamores at my house don't seem as beautiful to me right now. They could be Frances' weapons of mass destruction.
And that name ... Frances. It just doesn't seem right for something so destructive. Everyone I've ever known named Frances was well-mannered and calm. It mad me think of the Bill Murray movie, "Stripes." You know that scene where Sergeant Hulka asks all the recruits to share something personal with the group? The guy named Frances says he wants to be called Psycho. Well Psycho seems like a better name for this storm. And like Hulka I have a message for this hurricane:
"Lighten up, Frances."
Winds are picking up here now (its 12:30 a.m.) and gusts have shook the RV pretty hard a few times. Times editor Tom Scherberger drove down behind me in an SUV so he's here for the night too. We're parked behind a four-story hotel at exit 101, which is the last exit before you go across Alligator Alley. Tomorrow when it's safe we'll head across to Ft. Lauderdale and then north on the turnpike to lend support to our colleagues who are riding out the storm in Brevard, Indian River and Martin counties. So far they're OK and we've been able to reach them by cell phone. Tomorrow will be a different story and challenge for all of us.
