June 20th – Late in Ohio

 

I’d had a good solid sleep of at least seven hours as I’d finally awakened that morning. What woke me was the sound of the rain pelting my hotel room window, which sounded more like a hailstorm.

I laid in bed and did my morning stretches, as I listened to the rain and prayed. After I’d exited the bathroom, the rain still fell yet something changed, it no longer sounded like hail, just a heavy downpour. I don’t mind running in the rain, especially a summer rain. But this seemed unpredictable—as I’d known the Midwest could have flash flooding and I was only slightly familiar with the terrain. I chose to watch the news till the heaviest rain appeared to slow. Viewing the local weather channel could give me some idea of not only how the run could be, yet also the nearly 600-mile drive to Ohio that day.

Soon, I was out for a short 5-mile run. I wanted to run much further,—however, due to the unpredictable weather and the drive ahead I cut the run shorter by 7 miles. The rain had nearly stopped by the time I’d gotten out for a run. I hustled before the next storm arrived. I emptied out the water in the bottom of the cooler before going one driveway over to the local service station for gas—then replaced fresh ice and bottles of water in the cooler. I made myself a coffee in my room to bring in my own thermos cup for the drive, woofed down two free yogurts from the hotel before checking out after I’d cleaned up and rearranged the items in the car.

The drive began and within five miles, I saw extremely dark clouds that denoted severe storms up ahead. I prayed it would either shift or be a steady rainstorm and not a tornado or hailstorm. Within 45 minutes of the drive the rainstorm arrived. It had become treacherous enough where the visibility was next to nothing. Flashers would work, but not everyone was in sync with such a safe thought it appeared. Some vehicles had no lights on at all. Others had auto lights on, no back lights on, and some sped. A tractor-trailer or two whooshed past me as I sought an exit sign for a parking lot to pull into off the highway. It was raining so hard that I couldn’t remember if I’d gotten onto I-80E or was still on I-35S. The visibility was that horrendous.

Three exits passed in the blinding rainstorm and finally reached the end of an exit ramp and made a right turn onto a local road. A couple of blocks later I turned left into a service station with a mini mart. There were four cars and a tractor-trailer already parked apparently waiting out the weather. Soon, three more cars pulled in to park as well. I saw only one person running out into the storm from the store to a parked vehicle. The rain was so intense that just one second would have completely soaked a person.

I sat there for twenty minutes there was no movement anywhere in this small station nestled among the green landscape of this rural town I’d sought refuge in.

Since I knew the weather app on my phone would not be so reliable, I figured call a friend as I’d waited out the storm. I called Nina in Michigan. She picked up, and we chatted for about an hour, the heavy rainstorm continued. Not one vehicle moved, nor did people.

After getting off the phone with Nina, the storm continued for another twenty minutes. I waited it out till it was half or so of the intensity it had been. As I’d begun to drive again back on the highway, the coffee I’d prepped a few hours before was still warm. I took a bathroom break near the 300-mile mark of the drive. I fueled up the car, bought some coffee and water and I was back on I-80E once again. I’d looked the Mexican restaurant I enjoyed the last couple times there in Oregon, Ohio and saw they’d be serving till about half past nine that night.

I’d gone from I-35S to I-80E; then towards Chicago I-74E/I-80E/I-280E to connect to I-80E to Borman Expressway I-80E/I-94E; then onto I-80E/I-90E in Indiana. Which near 65 miles later I was on the Ohio Turnpike, looking for Exit 64, Toledo I-75N—soon brought me to OH-65, all side streets in the industrial towns of Toledo and Oregon. With each turn off the highway, the town’s lights got brighter. And unknown to me was that Oregon was indeed a happening town. That night it held an essence as if I were in Las Vegas. However, I was immensely grateful that the hotel was nestled in between the suburban side of Oregon and two blocks from the heavily traveled Navarre Avenue, where all the glitz shone that night.

When I finally arrived, it was half past eight that evening. My favorite Mexican restaurant was still open. I decided to order take out, then walk the 100 meters back to my hotel with dinner in hand. As I’d gotten into the elevator, a man in his late sixties entered. He looked professor-ish. He stood about 5’9” in height, somewhat lean and had a full head of mostly white hair. His white mustache was well-cared of; he wore glasses which made it seem as though he was ready to teach a class or learn. That was the vibe I’d gotten from him. Too, he seemed like a happy man. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag in his right hand. We chatted in the elevator a bit. It was his first time in the area.

We spoke about the unexpected feel of Oregon, Ohio apparently being a ‘happening town’. He stated that he couldn’t believe how friendly everyone was. Soon, we departed to our separate rooms.---Jody-Lynn Reicher