My Worst Fear Happened On The Freeway — 'It Felt Like A Thick Gray Blanket'
We’d been on that road many times before, but this time it was terrifying.
Marco_Bonfanti, Aleksandr Kichigin | Canva The Tule fog, a weather phenomenon unique to Central California, feels like a thick gray blanket thrown over the immediate world. Driving becomes impossible. Seeing the road is a struggle, and headlights don't help much. A supernatural quality adds to the feeling of uneasiness.
I hated driving in the Tule fog—more than I hated driving in rain, snow, and hail.
I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was thirty, which made me a senior driver in California. Neither my parents nor brother drove, and no one encouraged me to separate myself from my family pack of non-drivers. After many lessons and failing the driver’s test a few times, I passed and got my license.
My nerves intensified when I drove on the highway, but I did it anyway. I lived in Southern California and had family and friends to see in Northern California. If I wanted to see my people often, I had to drive myself. It was the cheapest way.
I drove to Las Vegas and all over California for nearly twenty years. I cannot pinpoint when everything changed, but I became less confident and more anxious with every long-distance drive.
Then, twenty years ago, on a Fourth of July weekend, I packed my car and got on the road to spend the holiday with friends. I don’t know why I picked Highway 101, maybe because it was more scenic than the shorter Highway 5.
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The drive started okay, but the winds kicked up about an hour into it, and my little Honda Civic was blown around like a lawn chair in a tornado.
Many large rig trucks roared past me and blew me in the opposite direction of the winds. My hands gripped the steering wheel, and I felt my anxiety rise. I turned on the radio, hoping the music would calm me down, but it didn’t. I took deep breaths and exhaled slowly, reminding myself that I’d successfully taken this drive many times.
But my nervousness refused to be soothed. Panic took over, and I fought my instinct to stop my car on the freeway — the worst thing you can do. My heart beat as if I’d been in a race, and I was cold, clammy, and slightly nauseous. I prayed I wouldn’t pass out and searched for somewhere I could pull over and catch my breath.
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After what seemed like hours but was only a few moments, I saw an exit and pulled into the nearest gas station. There I sat, trying to get a handle on my anxiety and fear.
While I couldn’t continue my journey up north, I still had to get home. Getting back on the freeway took all my resolve, but I ignored my fear and did it. Not going up north that weekend was lucky for me as I met my boyfriend, Andy, who easily navigates all the long-distance roads I now refuse to drive.
In general, it consists of fear of driving-related stimuli perceived as threatening or dangerous, according to a 2023 study published in Heliyon. Hence, the intensity of driving anxiety can vary significantly from one person to another, leading to different consequences. Some people seem to have specific anxiety about driving, whereas, for others, the anxiety does not seem to be limited to the driving domain but spreads to a broader scope. Drivers with moderate or extreme driving anxiety have reported that it affects their mental health, their quality of life as well as their quality of work
I have a freeway-driving phobia, but it’s not entirely limited to driving on the freeway; I also get nervous as a passenger. When triggered by someone pulling too closely in front of us or dicey weather conditions, I’ll grip my seatbelt or the panic strap by the window and tense every muscle in my body as if preparing for impact. I can’t tell you exactly what it is I fear.
Our weekend visit to my mother ended with her locked in her room, refusing to speak to us. All this because we didn’t want to give up our lives, move into my mother’s house, and take care of her. We got up early and were out of there by 5:00 a.m. We were sleep-deprived, emotional, and exhausted. We couldn’t wait to get home.
After stopping for a McDonald’s breakfast and getting gas, we hit the road — with Andy driving. We’d been on the road for a couple of hours, and while we usually had some music blasting for energy, we didn’t this time.
That’s when the Tule fog hit. For drivers, a Tule fog is a fearful sight. It’s responsible for weather-related fatalities in California, and driving in a Tule fog is like driving into an abyss. According to KGET chief weather forecaster Kevin Charette, tule fog forms when ground moisture, usually after a heavy rain, is present, and the air begins to cool, saturating the humidity and creating fog from the ground up. Overnight, you see the air cool, saturate, and form fog. Charette said the surrounding mountain ranges and high-pressure descending air between them trap the fog in the valley. There is nowhere for the mist to escape, so it lingers.
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While the fog had an eerie quality, there was also something peaceful and quiet about it.
As a backseat driver, I stayed alert as if our lives depended on it, and this time it did. The ghost-like Tule fog wrapped the car in gray. Nothing before us, nothing behind.
When the car drifted into the next lane, I knew something was off. I looked over at Andy and saw that his head was tilted to the side, and his eyes were closed. His hands dropped from the steering wheel, and his foot came off the accelerator.
Andy was no longer driving the car. Was he asleep? Had he passed out? All I knew was we were in a Tule fog and trouble.
“Andy! Andy, wake up,” I shouted. My heart pounded. Trying not to panic, I grabbed the wheel and directed the car back into our lane. I thought about shaking him awake but didn’t want to loosen my grip. Oddly, he had neither slowed down nor sped up.
Andy snapped his head up, grabbed the wheel, and slid the window down. He needed cold air.
“What happened?”
“You passed out or fell asleep, I don’t know,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said trying to convince himself as much as me. The fog had started to lift and we stopped at the next rest stop. There, Andy stretched his legs, ate some trail mix, and we got back on the road home.
I’d come face to face with my fear — a car I was in losing control on the highway, but I’d handled it.
Later, Andy was checked out by a doctor, and there weren’t any medical issues. After that, we made sure he got plenty of sleep before a big road trip and had a nutritious breakfast. Also, he now has a free pass to play his Rush music because he says it keeps him alert.
Right before the pandemic, we were in a fender-bender on the freeway — a lady lost control of her vehicle and plowed into us. Our car didn’t survive, but we did. When it happened, I was more smug than scared — it was as if I’d been expecting it all along.
For the last four years, I haven’t done any driving at all, but I recently bought a Matrix, just like the one destroyed in the accident. I plan to get some therapy for my phobia and slowly reacquaint myself with non-highway driving.
I don’t want to give in to my fear of driving, as it limits my freedom. At 63, I’ve got enough to worry about. Thank goodness there are no Tule fogs in Los Angeles.
Christine Schoenwald is a writer, performer, and frequent contributor to YourTango. She's had articles featured in The Los Angeles Times, Salon, Bustle, Medium, Huffington Post, Business Insider, and Woman's Day, among many others.