Funny how the best plans can go straight to hell when your response to an imaginary disaster situation turns into a real one.

Before I begin to explain how totally unprepared I was for Monday afternoon's events, know that I consider myself to be more prepared than most. A lifelong backpacker, angler and hunter, I plan for most contengencies. As a result, that planning is reflected in the gear I carry on my back or in my pocket. So how did I find myself surfing this forum? I was looking for any tips/tricks I could steal before my 10-day solo trek through Alaska's Denali National Park last year. Since then, I've been a regular lurker here learning how to leverage that wilderness preparation towards my daily urban routine.

I left the farm for college ten years ago and have since moved out of state. Like a majority of the country, I now live in the suburbs and work in the city (a large city at that). I have a 30-minute commute into the office every day (not bad considering, I know). And Monday afternoon, that commute turned into one big lesson for me.

Right before leaving the office, I glanced out the window to see a LifeFlight helicopter taking off from a major highway. Less than a minute later, a second helicopter landed directly onto the highway and I immediately knew this was the end result of another bad accident. The traffic guy on the radio in my vehicle warned that the entire highway was shut down in both directions (during rush hour, mind you) and that commuters in the area were advised to find alternate routes home.

Wow. A real chance to put my "Get Home Now" plan into action. The only problem? Several thousand commuters apparently had the same idea, too.

Within minutes of leaving the office parking lot, I found myself stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic and knew Emergency Route #2 was out of the question. A quick turn-off into a residential area lead me to Emergency Route #3, where I found myself stuck in equally bad gridlock.

Knowing there was no Emergency Route #4, I resigned myself to a long commute home. With all traffic being diverted off the highway, it took well over 45 minutes to travel 1.2 miles. As I crested a small hill, a quick glance into the rear-view mirror showed the line of cars sharing my pain stretched well over 3 miles. About this time is when I decided to take a few notes:

1. Almost every single person I saw was talking on a cell phone. I would have called home, too, if I hadn't accidentally left my phone at home. Besides, I'm sure more than a few signals were dropped due to the number of "honey I'll be home late" calls being made.

2. Tempers started to flair in traffic. More than a few single-finger salutes were extended by others to various drivers who either a) tried to cut in line or b) were tailgating others in a vain attempt to get the line moving. At one point, the guy four cars in front of me actually jumped out and pointed a menacing finger at the teenager behind him. I'm no lip reader but it didn't take much guessing to know what he was screaming.

3. One old truck apparently ran out of gas. Either that or it simply stalled out. Regardless of the reason, two guys were seen pushing their truck off the road into a residential subdivision. No one helped them.

4. Gas stations along the way were overcrowded. Well over 75% of all pumps were in use when I crawled by. Several stations had lines that extended out into the street.

Had this been the immediate aftermath of a major urban disaster (inser your own nightmare scenario here), there is no question that hundreds if not thousands on this crowded road alone would have been in major trouble. And that doesn't even begin to address the millions of others in the four-county region.

Yeah, I had a car kit. While sitting in traffic watching my already-low fuel gage drop even lower (so much for always keeping the tank half full), I pulled my kit out to take inventory and pass the time.

The Powerbars? Melted in the 100+ degree heat of the vehicle that's associated with a southern summer. The first aid kit? Woefully indadequate to handle anything larger than a blister or bee sting. The water? Hot but drinkable. Maps of the area? Large regional maps that don't show the smaller side streets. The comfortable shoes/boots to hike home in if need be? In the closet. The only form of personal protection to carry on that trek home? A tire iron that looked nothing like the firearms in the gun safe at home. In other words, I had more than the guy sitting behind me in traffic picking his nose oblivious to the situation (or its futuristic implications), but that's really not saying much.

Three hours later, I pulled up to the house. After explaining the situation to an understanding wife (who laughed when she heard my cellphone ring in the bedroom after she tried to call me), I immediately began to rethink my urban approach to survival.

The ironic part of the story? I have successfully (and quite happily) lived out of a backpack for well over 2 weeks at a time, but stick me in my vehicle for a three-hour drive home immediately following a major (or even minor) disaster and my comfort level drops exponentially.

The moral part of my story? Spend less time reading this forum and more time applying what you learn from it. It may very well make your disaster commute easier than mine.