The Great American Eclipse of August 21, 2017, was something
I'd looked forward to for seven years, when I first learned of it. After seeing
the path of totality, St. Louis was my first choice of observing location for
the eclipse, with southern Illinois also looking attractive. As the years
passed, and I learned more of this eclipse, St. Louis, being on the edge of the
path of totality, became less desirable. Carbondale, Illinois caught my
attention for being at the intersection of the paths of totality for both the
2017 and 2024 solar eclipses, and being near the point of longest totality for this eclipse, despite admonitions from my friend Chicago
Astronomer Joe Guzman to "avoid Carbondale."
It really wasn't until January 2017 that I started seriously
looking for eclipse observing locations. I looked for public parks on or near
the center line of the path of totality, spaces where I knew I should be able
to set up for observing. Right away I found Triple Creek Park in Gallatin,
Tennessee. The center line crossed through the park, and was within a fraction
of a second of the longest duration of this eclipse. It immediately went to the
top of my list, and stayed there until August. I found a few other suitable
locations in Tennessee and Kentucky, but really, my heart was set on Gallatin.
Even though I had Gallatin and a few other places in mind as
observation sites, my real plan was to have no plan, just contingencies. Since
weather could change my plans at the last minute, I thought my best chance for seeing
totality depended on being able to get to a wide swath of the path of totality,
and I was willing to drive anywhere from Missouri to Tennessee. I thought it
would be wise to get to southern Illinois on Saturday, check the weather
forecasts along the path, and make my decision to either stay put, or head for
clear skies late Sunday, if needed. Since I assumed that I would be alone, I
planned on just sleeping in my car at rest stops or truck stops.
In the final weeks before the big day, I convinced my
girlfriend, Dawn, to join me on my adventure to totality. With her, sleeping in
my car wasn't going to be an option. With a limited budget, and hotels and
campsites sold out months in advance, and prices greatly inflated for remaining
spots, I booked a camping spot at a private ranch in Ozark, Illinois, that my friends
Ian and Anna told me about. The ranch turned out to be less than ideal for
Dawn, but there really weren't any better options, and if we hadn't left our
campsite, we would have seen two minutes, thirty-nine seconds of totality. That
was really all I needed to know.
The week before the eclipse, I started carefully packing the
trunk of my car. If need be, we would be entirely self sufficient except for
gas on the trip. Dawn and I both worked late on the night of Friday, August 18,
and tried to get some rest. I was too excited to sleep much, and spent a few
hours in the early morning Saturday with the final packing of my car. I wanted
to leave South Bend by noon to get to our southern Illinois campsite before
dark.. As we were getting ready to leave, Dawn asked if we could bring our dog,
Dalton. Of course. Even with the trunk and part of the backseat of my car
loaded, there was still enough room for him. As noon approached, everything
(and everybody) was ready and waiting in the Cruze, which was gassed up, and
decorated with an eclipse poster in the back driver's side window, so people
passing us on the highways would know we were chasing the lunar shadow.
The trunk of my Chevy Cruze before my Great American Eclipse Adventure.
Gassed up, loaded, and ready to go!
Rather than deal with construction and greater traffic
volume on I-94 through Northwest Indiana, we left South Bend south on U.S. 31
to Indianapolis. At every stop light I could feel how heavy my car was, both by
increased stopping distances, and less quickness getting through the gears.
About an hour outside of South Bend, halfway to Indianapolis, it finally hit
me. Yes I had been excited for days, and even weeks, but suddenly it was all
very real. I was on my way to see the total solar eclipse I'd been looking
forward to for so long. This was really happening. I joked with Dawn that if I
started crying, she would have to drive (she can't drive a stick shift).
Once I controlled my emotions, the rest of the drive was
smooth. We stopped about every two hours to let Dalton out, and top off the gas
tank. I had hoped to stop in Carbondale before arriving at the campsite, but
with so many stops during our trip, we wouldn't be able to go to the current
U.S. Eclipse Crossroads and still have time to set up our tent before dark.
Sunset at the Harris Cattle Ranch Saturday, August 19, Ozark, Illinois.
The Harris Cattle Ranch where we were camping was basically
having a festival that coincided with the eclipse. There were bands every
evening, and a bonfire and drum circles every night. I didn't mind, but since
it wasn't the peace and quiet that Dawn wanted, we camped towards the edge of
the property, as far from the party as we could get. Ian and Anna saw us drive
in, and walked over to say hi, and invited us to hang out later. We'd had a
long day, though, so I set up the tent, we made sandwiches, and settled down
with Dalton for the night. A few times I went outside the tent with a pair of
binoculars to admire the superb night sky, but mostly we watched old episodes
of "Game of Thrones" on DVD before going to sleep.
It was hot all weekend, so despite having little sleep the
previous few days, I woke up Sunday morning before sunrise. Immediately I went
outside to see if I could find the thin crescent Moon, my last look at it
before the big eclipse on Monday. Some clouds to the east slightly hindered the
search for Luna, but I did see it. The clouds in the east started turning pink
from sunlight while the Sun was still below the horizon, and in a few minutes,
clouds in the southwestern sky became illuminated in pink. It was a glorious
morning.
I woke up Sunday to the crescent Moon, my last look at it until it crossed the Sun on Monday.
Shortly after sunrise, I set up a shade canopy, so that
while we were at the campground, we would have some cover from the blazing Sun.
After that I got out my Coronado solar telescope to have a look at our star.
The Sun had been rather inactive most of the year, as it neared the minimum
part of its eleven year cycle of activity. I was surprised to see quite a few
sunspots on the solar surface, but what better time for them to appear than the
day before millions of people would be viewing the surface of the Sun?
Dalton watches me set up a shade canopy.
Setting up my Coronado solar telescope to look at the Sun.
Since Sunday was pretty much a day to kill time, in the late
morning we took Dalton for a ride to Carbondale. I wanted to see what
activities were happening in Eclipse City, but my main purpose was to look for
postcards. Earlier in the summer, the United States Postal Service had issued
stamps commemorating the total solar eclipse that was about to cross the
nation. I had bought two sheets of stamps: one to keep, and one to use for
postcards I intended to send immediately after the eclipse ended. I just needed
to find someplace that sold postcards of Carbondale or southern Illinois.
I was not having much luck with my search for postcards when
a chance encounter outside a shopping mall led me to the Carbondale Tourism
office. The tourism office had postcards and Carbondale eclipse glasses (more
on that later) for sale, as well as free eclipse related handouts and
brochures. When the lady in the office saw Dawn and Dalton waiting outside in
the heat, she said, "Bring that sweet puppy inside." Everybody was so
nice, and I took several selfies at what felt like the Carbondale eclipse
headquarters. We walked down the street, checked out some of the vendors, but
since I had fulfilled my main reason for coming into town, we were eager to get
back in the air conditioned car.
Most of the electronic billboards in and near Carbondale had eclipse messages.
Moonstock.
Welcome to Carbondale.
Eclipse merchandise was everywhere in Carbondale, the current Eclipse Crossroads.
Carbondale eclipse glasses for my collection.
We went back to campsite to eat lunch, sit in the shade, and
figure out what to do with the rest of the day. Since we were just outside the
Shawnee National Forest, a few sites nearby looked interesting to visit. But
first, after we ate, I thought I would take a few minutes to start addressing
the postcards I had bought. But there was a problem: I could not find them anywhere.
I had everything else from the tourism office, but no postcards. Where were
they? I had sixteen eclipse stamps, so I picked out sixteen postcards. The man
at the checkout said they were 3/$1, so I might as well buy two more. Since I
had picked up sixteen of the same design, I set them down on the counter, and
went to pick up two other designs to keep as souvenirs. I must have set them
down with the other postcards while I was paying for them, and then left
them at the tourism office. Cell service was at best spotty at the ranch
campsite, and I had no service at all while we were there. I couldn't call to
see if my postcards had been found, or even to find out how late they were
open.
Instead of visiting the nearby Tunnel Hill or Shawnee
National Forest, we now had to spend the afternoon driving back to Carbondale,
about 45 minutes away. I didn't even care if I had to pay for the postcards
again as long as the office was still open. I don't know if Dawn was upset with
me about having to waste our day driving back to Carbondale, but I wasn't too
happy with myself about it. Luckily they remembered me, and had my postcards
waiting for me as soon as I walked in.
While we were in town, we stopped at a McDonald's, mostly to
take advantage of free wi-fi. We both had plenty of pictures to post to
Facebook, and I really needed to find updated weather forecasts for the
eclipse. While we were back in Carbondale, it looked like a thunderstorm was
moving in, and I really needed to know where I needed to be for a clear sky
Monday. The one thing that seemed most certain was that the forecast for
Nashville looked good. I was already thinking about leaving for Tennessee.
I'd been to Carbondale twice, leaving behind some of my
money, but coming back with three eclipse T-shirts (two were a matching pair
for Dawn and me), nineteen postcards (must have miscounted, I only paid for
eighteen), two pairs of eclipse glasses, and a twelve pack of Pepsi in
commemorative eclipse cans. It was late afternoon, and we finally had some time
to explore the natural scenery of the area.
The Bell Smith Spring in Shawnee National Forest seemed to be the
most interesting local site to see, and it was one of the closest. The twelve
mile drive felt much longer, as much of it was down narrow, winding gravel
roads. It was still hot and very humid, and neither of us was really dressed
for a long walk in those conditions, but we hiked through the gorgeous ravine
to the spring. A large rock overlooked the pool below, and people were taking
turns jumping off the rock into the water 20-30 feet below. It looked like
certain suicide to me, and even if I had been dressed for swimming, there is no
way I would ever THINK about jumping into the water from that high. Since my
phone was almost dead, I held Dalton on his leash while Dawn took all the
pictures on our hike. If I end up in Carbondale for the 2024 eclipse, I'd like
to go back to the Bell Smith Spring again.
Bell Smith Springs, Shawnee National Forest.
We arrived back at the campsite just as the Sun was setting,
but much of the sky was still overcast with cirrus-type clouds. Soon I would
have to make a decision. Do I stay at the ranch campsite and hope the sky will
be clear tomorrow? Do we need to leave to find a clear sky? It felt like the
biggest decision of my life, with no room for error, and not enough information
to make a good decision. I took down the shade canopy, and packed what I could
in the car, just in case we needed to leave later. Around 9:00 PM my friends
Jayde and Mike arrived and set up camp next to us. More importantly, Jayde
brought news that there was a 20% chance of rain by 3:00 PM Monday. While that
was only a small chance of rain, I thought it meant a high likelihood of cloudy
skies during the eclipse. It was all I needed to hear. Well worth the bottle of
wine I'd brought her. I was going to leave for Gallatin, Tennessee in the
middle of the night.
Dawn tried to sleep, but I stayed up with Jayde and Mike for
another hour. We watched the stars through the haze and few scattered clouds,
tracked an oddly behaving satellite (or aircraft?), and talked about the
excitement of what we would experience in a few hours over a glass of wine.
Before it got too late, though, I said goodnight and wished them luck. I needed
to get some sleep, and fast. I needed to be two states away when the Sun came
up again. (Jayde
said on Facebook just after I arrived at Vol State that she and Mike were
leaving for better skies in Kentucky).
Somehow, I slept. Not long, and not well, but I did sleep. I
woke up before 2:00 AM, and as quietly as I could in our small tent, I started
packing what I could, letting Dawn sleep a bit longer. With everything loaded,
we were ready to make our escape to Tennesse just before 3:00 AM. But with my
car so heavy, and the grass of the ranch soaked with dew, it took several tries
to drive up the steep hill near the exit of the campsite. Finally the car made
it to the top of the hill, and there was nothing that would stop me from
getting to Tennessee by morning.
Getting on I-24, there were several semi trucks parked on
the ramp. It's not unusual to see trucks parked on highway entrance or exit
ramps at night, especially in rural areas, but this seemed more than usual. And
at other exits, I noticed the same thing. I wondered how many truckers were
going to take advantage of being in the path of totality, and try to see the
eclipse tomorrow?
It wasn't long before we crossed the Ohio River into
Paducah, Kentucky. We got off at the first exit, and stopped at a Pilot truck
stop. I bought ice, pumped gas, and let Dalton out for a bathroom break while
Dawn took "the best shower this side of the Ohio." While I was
waiting with Dalton, a man from Milwaukee noticed the eclipse T-shirt I was
wearing, and asked what my plan was. He had been driving to Nebraska in his old
VW van, but turned around because of storms forecasted there. He'd stopped in
Paducah because of a vibration in one of the wheels. He thought it could probably
be fixed in the morning, but if not, was happy to be in the path of totality,
and would watch the eclipse there at the truck stop if he had to. But when he
asked if I-24 stayed in the path of totality through the rest of Kentucky, I
pulled out a map and told him that it looked like it was completely in the
path. I learned a lesson, although it had been in the back of my mind all
along: once you are in the path of totality, stay in it. If unexpected car
trouble or anything else threatens to end your trip early, it's better to settle
for less time of totality, or worse weather prospects than to be caught outside
the path, with no chance of seeing totality.
Once back on the road, we made good time through Kentucky,
and once we crossed into Tennessee, made even better time as the Sun was rising
off more or less to my left, despite traffic increasing. In fact, it seemed
that as the traffic increased, so did speeds. I probably averaged 72 MPH
through Kentucky, but at least 82 MPH on I-24 through Tennessee until we exited for I-65 north.
From there it was a quick trip back up to Gallatin, and more relaxed as most of
the morning traffic seemed headed for Nashville.
Although Triple Creek Park in Gallatin was my initial
preferred location for the eclipse, in early August I found out there was going
to be a concert there on eclipse day. I didn't want a lot of distraction for
the biggest astronomical event of my life, so despite being on the center line
of the path of totality, Triple Creek Park lost most of its appeal. Instead, I
found an observing event across town at Volunteer State Community College, so I
made "reservations" there. Although the reservations were only for
the college to get an estimate of how many people to expect on eclipse day,
they sent out an email to respondents stating that the parking lot would open
an hour earlier than the official opening of campus at 8:00 AM. We arrived
right at 7:00 AM, and found parking rather easily. It was eclipse day morning,
I was in Gallatin, Tennessee, and there was a blue sky all around. I could not
have been happier.
Information tent. And eclipse glasses.
My 15th pair of eclipse glasses, and probably my favorite.
My first nine pairs of eclipse glasses. And then I got SERIOUS about collecting them.
Since we had Dalton with us, and weren't sure if the campus
was dog friendly, we staked out a spot near my car in the grassy median of the
parking lot, near a tree for shade. I explored the campus first, and found that
the school was giving away Vol State eclipse glasses. I took a pair for my
collection and one for Dawn. I later saw that they were giving away NASA
glasses, and took a pair of those as well. In the month before the eclipse- and
really all year- it became an obsession to collect as many different pairs of
eclipse glasses as I could. I started the year with two pairs I used for the
2012 Transit of Venus at Conway Observatory in Lowell, Indiana, and another
pair from the October 2014 partial solar eclipse at Valparaiso University.
Early in 2017 I got a pair of plain white eclipse glasses from Michiana
Astronomical Society at a science event at the downtown South Bend library and
another from the Notre Dame physics department. As the eclipse approached, I
got a pair that came with the August issue of Sky & Telescope, and bought several pairs at Lowe's, Toys 'R'
Us, and Walmart. I gave away five pairs to family, and ordered two pairs from
Great American Eclipse so that Dawn and I would have matching glasses. I
ordered yet another pair, a Tyler Nordgren design, through my Ozark, Illinois
campsite, and bought a pair for myself and my friend Joe in Carbondale. With
the two pairs I got at Vol State, we had 19 pairs with us during the eclipse,
16 of which were mine. I used them all during the partial phases both before
and after totality.
Since I had not slept much or well since the start of
eclipse weekend, I knew that I should take a nap before the eclipse began, but
I was too excited. Dawn fell asleep with Dalton on a blanket in the grass, but
I spent the morning addressing the postcards I had bought in Carbondale and affixing
the USPS eclipse stamps. When I was finished, I took one more stroll through
the campus to see what activities were happening. There were speakers and
demonstrations inside and outside. As much as I would have liked to have heard
some of the talks, I doubt if I would have learned much, and it would not have
been fair to leave Dawn and Dalton out in the heat alone for long. Having got a
feel for the building excitement around campus, I went back to my car and
finished my own preparations.
Postcard I sent later, and my sheet of USPS Total Eclipse stamps.
My glasses from Great American Eclipse.
I want this 90mm Coronado hydrogen alpha solar telescope!
The serious astrophotographers were set up near the campus entrance, just on the other side of the trees from me.
I've been a solar observer since 2011, partly in preparation
for the Venus transit in 2012, partly because solar maximum was approaching,
and partly because of interest in NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory mission.
Working third shift most of that time, it wasn't always easy to keep an eye on
the Sun, but when I acquired a used Coronado Personal Solar Telescope in 2015,
observing in the hydrogen alpha wavelength really renewed my interest. I'd been
watching the Sun regularly all year, but with solar cycle 24 winding down, the
Sun had been fairly quiet all year. In the days before its big American show,
sunspot activity ramped up. There were at least five good sunspots visible in
my Coronado, and a couple of nice prominences. Two brothers, one from Texas and
one from Florida, were observing near us, and took an interest in the funnel
screen on my table top Dobsonian. I showed them the view of the sunspots and
prominences in the Coronado, and told them where I thought to look for the
prominences later during totality.
Not going to lie: I got a little worried when I saw these clouds starting to pop up. It didn't matter that they're fair weather clouds.
Before first contact.
At 11:59 AM CDST, the tiniest dent was seen in the solar disk,
signaling first contact. Between my cell phone and a cheap point and shoot
camera, I knew I wasn't going to get quality images of any detail on the solar
surface, but I could at least capture the march of the Moon across its disk. I'd
seen a partial eclipse of about 40% magnitude in 2014, so the early stages were
somewhat familiar. But as the Sun became a crescent, and steadily diminishing,
things got interesting. I was surprised to notice the sky appeared darker much
earlier than I expected. It was more than just darker, though. The sunlight was
less intense. I've read that colors seem more dull as the Sun gets dimmer, but
I disagree. It seemed they were more natural without the glare of the midday
Sun. We noticed the shadow crescents on the pavement beneath the trees. The pace
was quickening, and I thought I was ready for what was about to happen, but I
wasn't. There is no way to be ready until you've been through it, and maybe not
even then. I don't know yet.
Tiny bite out of the Sun. The eclipse is under way.
The optics of my two telescopes inverted the image differently.
Highest temperature reading of the day.
Shadow crescents through the tree on the pavement.
About
fifteen minutes before totality, I started my car, and turned up the air
conditioning. After it cooled down, I put Dalton in the back seat. As much as I
would have liked to have seen his reaction to totality, there was a risk that
he might get out of control. He was in an unfamiliar place, after all, and the
conditions were about to get very unusual. I did not want to take a chance of
losing precious seconds of totality because of a bewildered dog. I'm pretty
sure he slept right through it. When I started my car, the headlights came on,
as they always do, but I didn't notice them at all. In the last few minutes before
totality, it was dark enough around us that they caught my attention, and I
turned them off.
Poor Dalton slept through totality.
The sky is starting to look darker, not as bright.
I started recording video a few minutes before totality to
capture my reaction. I had bought a phone app to tell me exactly when second
contact was coming, but I had forgot to turn it on. As the crescent Sun got
very slim, I took one more look in the Coronado. What I saw was amazing. I
called Dawn over to see, but it was too late. I realized it was Bailly's Beads, and then I heard cheering from the campus, and looked up. I just stared for quite a
few seconds, mesmerized. I should have known better, but I was expecting the
corona to look like the processed and polished photographs I've seen. Instead,
it was a glow around the perfectly round, perfectly black disk of the Moon
blocking the Sun. I don't remember seeing the spikes and streamers that I've
seen in eclipse images since, but it didn't really matter. It was absolutely
amazing. As my eyes adapted to the darker sky, I remembered to look for Venus,
and found it easily enough. Jupiter took a few seconds, but I found it, too. I
had thought about looking for Regulus, Mercury, and Mars, but they didn't seem
worth wasting precious seconds of totality for, now that I was in the lunar
shadow. I don't regret not looking for them.
I looked around, seeing the famous 360° sunset all around me,
with the horizon relatively bright in all directions, and only the feeble light
of the corona overhead. I was staring at the black hole where the Sun should
have been again. I don't know if I remembered to look for prominences, or if I
just happened to notice them as they became visible before third contact. I did
see the one I'd pointed out to the brothers earlier, and called out to them
that I could see it, but that was it. The Diamond Ring and Bailly's Beads were
shining through the Sun's western limb. Totality was over. I put my eclipse
glasses on right away, but what I really wanted was to take them off, and see
that black disk surrounded by shimmering light again for a few more seconds. In
the seconds and minutes after totality that's all I wanted, and it's all I want
thinking about it again now. I want to see it again.
Totally eclipsed (over-exposed) Sun, and Venus at right.
Totality.
Totality.
Totality.
Totality.
Totality.
Totality.
Venus during totality.
Nearing end of totality.
Temperature reading right after totality.
I had brought a weather station with me to document the
temperature changes that come with totality. Above 80°F, I don't trust its accuracy, but at least it would
give me objective data. Plus, it was so damn hot, I didn't know if I would even
notice if it dropped a few degrees. Periodically I took pictures of the display
to record the data. I haven't really looked at all the readings, but I may have
recorded whether or not there was an "eclipse wind" that can
sometimes accompany totality. The highest temperature reading I saw before
totality was 103°F.
Less than a minute after totality it read 93°F. While I don't think it was actually that hot, the
available evidence- unreliable though it may be- says there was a ten degree
temperature drop through the eclipse.
My weather station. It did not agree with the temperature my car gave.
My car said it was 20 degrees cooler than the weather station, but the car was running, and AC cranked.
Somehow I thought that I would find the egress portion of
the partial eclipse just as exciting as the ingress. I was so wrong. There was
a huge let down after totality. The parking lot started emptying immediately. I
couldn't yet imagine leaving before the partial eclipse was over, but at that
point I was only still observing because I felt I had to. It was still a
special conjunction, and it needed to be observed and documented, even if my
heart wasn't in it. But then Dawn said something.
In the weeks before the eclipse, I told Dawn repeatedly that
the two minutes, forty seconds of totality was the only reason for our trip. I
was trying to impress on her the importance of totality, trying to make sure
she would take it in as deeply as I knew I would. Soon after totality, she
said, "You got your two minutes and forty seconds. Can we go?" I
could have protested and stayed until fourth contact, but my heart wasn't
really in it after totality. We had been more or less cooped up in either my
car or tiny tent for over 48 hours, with each day of the trip reaching
temperatures over 90°F.
She was ready to go home, and so was I.
My final image of the eclipse.
Before we left, though, I wanted to stage some photos.
Before totality I had used every pair of eclipse glasses I had. Now I wanted to
get a picture of myself observing the eclipse with each pair, starting with my
oldest pair and ending with my newest pair, sixteen pairs total.
Sky News, May-June 2012, Annular Eclipse, Transit of Venus.
Eclipser, Transit of Venus, June 5, 2012.
Partial solar eclipse, Valparaiso University, October 23, 2014.
Plain white, Michiana Astronomical Society, February 4, 2017.
University of Notre Dame Physics, April 2017.
Sky & Telescope, July 2017.
Lowe's, August 2017.
Lowe's, August 2017.
Lowe's, August, 2017.
Toys 'R' Us, August 2017.
Great American Eclipse, August 2017.
Eclipse MegaMovie, La Porte County Library, August 14, 2017.
Tyler Nordgren From Sea to Shining Sea, August 19, 2017.
Carbondale Eclipse, August 20, 2017.
Vol State, August 21, 2017.
NASA, August 21, 2017.
I started packing, but slowly. I started with items not
essential to observing, until the only things left to put away were the
Coronado solar telescope and eyepieces. The Moon was about 2/3rds of the way to
fourth contact, but for me, that was the end of the eclipse. It was time to
leave, but I still had business to take care of in Gallatin.
We went to the McDonald's across the street from Vol State,
and the lady at the drive-thru said they had closed for a few minutes to see
totality, and she was still excited about it. Next we went a little further to the
post office. Dawn was looking for public mailboxes on the streets, but that
wouldn't work. Not today. My postcards had to be postmarked in Gallatin, August
21, 2017. I was about to run into the post office when I remembered that I
hadn't written a message on the postcard to myself. The other fifteen cards had
messages written before the eclipse began, but I left my own blank. I had put
away my purple pen, but found a black one in the door of my car. I scribbled a
short message to myself on the trunk of my car: I WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN!!! The
lady at the counter was happy to stamp each of my postcards, and showed me
pictures she'd taken of the eclipse with her phone. They were pretty good. With
the postcards sent, it was time to gas up and leave Gallatin.
The eclipse was over, but our adventure continued. Continued
far too long, actually. The Great American Eclipse website had published
traffic estimates in the weeks ahead of E-Day. There was concern that people
might miss totality because of traffic jams. Occurring on a Monday, though, I
suspected that anybody who could would make a weekend trip of the event. My
guess is that eclipse traffic started trickling into the path of totality
Thursday, with more people leaving for their destinations each day. I never
really worried about traffic before the eclipse, since I knew if I had to
change locations- as we did- most of the final driving would be overnight. The
advantage of working midnight shifts. We all should have known the heavy
traffic would be AFTER the eclipse, when nearly everybody left for home at
once.
Using GPS, we headed out of Tennessee. On U.S. 31W, just
before entering Kentucky, we finally encountered a traffic jam. When we crossed
the state line, I could see I-65 to my left, a highway that is familiar to me
from Indianapolis to its termination at U.S.20/12 in Gary. I wanted to be on
that road, and got on it at the first entrance I could. It was okay at first,
but then everything came to a stop. For no apparent reason. And then we started
moving, slowly, in first or second gear, then 30 MPH, 50, 70, and then...
Stop. This repeated over and over again. I only drove a few
miles before I stopped at a truck stop. I was tired. It was hot outside. The
long weekend with little sleep was catching up to me, and I no longer had the
excitement of anticipation to keep me going. I parked in the shade and tried to
rest, but it was no use. The noise from the highway and the air conditioning of
my car were too much to drown out. We got back on I-65, thinking maybe traffic
had eased, but it was just the same as before, maybe worse. Briefly I had a gorgeous
view of the setting Sun a little behind me on the left, but then traffic sped
up again, and I had to put my eyes back on the road. With darkness falling upon
me for the second time that day, I became completely exhausted, and we stopped
at a McDonald's to eat and a long rest, but again, I could not fall asleep.
After a couple hours, I tried I-65 yet again, but the
situation hadn't improved. And now there were signs warning of construction
ahead. I exited once again, determined to find a better way to get home. U.S. 31 was
again running alongside the interstate, with hardly any traffic on it. A quick
check of a map showed it took a longer route to Louisville, but as long as I
could drive in 6th gear, I didn't care. We were finally making progress through
the Bluegrass State. I never felt like was going to fall asleep at the wheel,
but damn, I was tired. The only thing keeping me awake was the sheer will of
wanting to be the fuck out of Kentucky. At last we were approaching Louisville
from the west, and when I had to merge onto I-65 to cross the Ohio River, there
were very few vehicles on it.
I got off of I-65 in Kentucky at the next exit. I'd had enough of going nowhere.
Back in the Hoosier State for the first time since Saturday
afternoon, I made it sixteen more miles before I had to stop at another McDonald's,
the fourth one we'd been to since leaving the Vol State campus. This time I
managed to fall asleep, although it took an hour of trying to get comfortable
first. When I woke up two hours later, I barely had the energy to walk into the
truck stop to go to the bathroom and get a large coffee. The coffee was awful,
but it would get us home. It had to.
We were back on the road around 4:00 AM. Somewhere on I-465
just outside of Indianapolis it started drizzling, and continued to do so on
and off the rest of the morning. Daylight started breaking somewhere north of
Indy, although it was a cloudy and dismal light. Around 8:20 AM, I finally
parked the Cruze in our backyard and shut off the engine. Home. And our Great
American Eclipse Adventure was over.
My odometer when we got home. It was 80,006 when we left. We'd driven 1,190 miles through four states in 68 hours.
For me, except for the trip home, the journey to totality
really could not have gone much better. For Dawn, I think she was miserable
most of the time, and I'm not even sure if she has a fond memory of totality to
make it all worthwhile. Dalton loves going for rides and pooping in new places,
so I think he enjoyed the first two days. But being stuck in the backseat of my
small car on the long ride home seemed to drain the energy out of him for a few
days after we were home. I
got some proper sleep, though not nearly as much as I wanted, and went back to
work that night. Back to reality. I wanted to be back in totality. At work that night I heard that the sky was mostly clear for
the eclipse at our campsite back in Ozark, but I don't regret leaving for
Tennessee. With limited information, and what I saw in the sky, I would make
the same decision again if I had to.
I've often heard that totality is a life changing
experience. At first I disagreed. I couldn't think of any way that it might
change my life. I still can't think of any way it will change my life. But I
think about it constantly. In the weeks since, I find myself thinking about it
all, the planning of the trip, driving down all those highways, the gorgeous
night sky of Ozark, Illinois, seeing the thin crescent Luna the morning before
the eclipse, the trips to Carbondale, the Vol State campus, and mostly, the
brief time that I was directly in the lunar shadow. I think about the total
eclipse that will cross Indiana in 2024, and also the annular eclipse of 2023.
It all goes through my head, often suddenly and unexpectedly. I read books and
articles on the August eclipse that I just didn't have time to read before
totality arrived. And if I read too much, or think too deeply, I come damn
close to crying, remembering it all. It was two minutes, forty seconds, but it
was so much more. It was three days in August. It was weeks, months, years of
anticipation, anticipation that was fully justified. It was my first totality,
and so far my favorite totality, at least for the next six and a half years. I
don't know where I'll be on April 8, 2024, I've only researched a few places in
Indiana so far, and there is still plenty of time to figure it out. But as long
as I'm still breathing then, I'll be somewhere in the path of totality, waiting
for the lunar shadow to find me again.
