Backup on I-90 was sure no holiday

This is in response to the Press article by Devin Weeks on Saturday, Dec. 7 regarding the westbound I-90 lane closure at mile marker 63 on Dec. 5. I do not know if Devin Weeks is male, female, or gender neutral, and I dare not risk being politically incorrect. Can you imagine the outrage? It would be more dangerous than being stuck in the mountains, in your vehicle on a cold, dark, dangerous winter night. So, I will refer to Devin Weeks as the Staff Writer.

The Staff Writer’s opening sentence was: “It was kinda like an airport on Thanksgiving weekend.” Hmmm … I beg to differ. There were no clean restrooms, restaurants serving hot food and drinks, no security making sure travelers were safe, and definitely no big warm building to walk around in to pass the time.

I have been in airports over Thanksgiving, as many who read your paper have. It’s inconvenient, and frustrating; however, it beats being hostage by bureaucrats of the Idaho Transportation Department (ITD). I was stranded at mile marker 64 one mile east of the container debacle, with my wife that night.

Mrs. O and I were returning to Coeur d’Alene after day-tripping to Missoula, Mont., when we found ourselves in the ITD “twilight zone.” There were no warnings of a highway closure. The reader boards that tell of amber alerts, inclement weather, and road conditions, only stated that westbound traffic was restricted to “one lane traffic,” and “expect delays.”

Now, if the ITD was considering closing the westbound lanes at the Mullan mishap at 5:30 p.m. on the night in question, why didn’t they relay that message to the public? There were no warnings of closures on the state highway reader boards, or the radio, and the WiFi only reported traffic restricted to one lane. Now I must confess that we got a glimpse of a man standing on the side of the highway as we passed St. Regis who resembled Rod Serling; was that the ITD’s warning?

The container toppled off the trailer bed of the truck around 2:30 p.m. We left Missoula at 4 p.m., which brought us to mile marker 64 at 5:30 p.m. The yellow lights of the flaggers’ pickups strobed their warning in the dark winter night. What struck me and Mrs. O as odd was the absence of the Idaho State troopers. The flaggers themselves were just paces away from our vehicle, since we were second in line in the backup. So, I bundled up and went out to talk with traffic control.

My recognizance of the highway hostage situation was rewarded throughout the night with this information: the Idaho State troopers had been there, but left when the crane and its crew showed up. That there was no representation of the ITD onsite. That the crane was sitting in the fast lane (blocking traffic) waiting for weight counter balances. And that absolutely nobody knew, or cared about the well-being of hundreds, if not thousands of people stranded in a very perilous predicament.

A ray of hope shined in our eyes at 11 p.m., but it turned out to be the lights of a pickup coming from the crane blockage. The driver, a big bearded man, came to a stop at the feet of my new found friends, Freddy and Fanny Flagger, and Stanley Stranded. Our little huddle strained to get closer to the open window, more for the heat than the expected news: “two hours, maybe more...”

I did not say “FFFuuudddgggeee” as Ralphie Parker did in the movie. However, I did let slip a Ship High In Transit. After which I climbed into our rig and maneuvered through the maze of traffic to the on ramp which was now used as an off ramp. We stayed at the Super 8 in St. Regis, Mont., finding nothing else at 1 a.m.

Here’s a pull quote by Megan Sausser of the ITD that I want to leave with you: “…. people have just one choice,” in these situations, “to wait.”

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R.J. Oliveria is a Coeur d’Alene resident. If that name sounds familiar, he has a locally famous brother-in-writing, Dave.