Read The Yellowstone Conundrum for Free Online Page A

bridge had collapsed and sunk into Lake Washington because the US Environmental agencies had said workers, scouring the existing roadway in preparation for roadway repair, couldn’t slush the scoured water off into Lake Washington because the water contained the remains of the pedestrian walkway, well above EPA water hazard levels. Instead, WSDOT looked at the floating bridge itself, decided that the pontoons had enough extra capacity for water/crap runoff, so they opened the hatches and let the water enter the pontoons. Well, on a rough afternoon (November 25, 1990) a three-day storm added to the water accumulated in the pontoons, and simply sank the bridge, bad crud and all into Lake Washington. It wasn’t red letter day for WSDOT.
      “Oh, yeah!” shouted BJ Tucker as the Roulette’s song blasted across the airwaves.
     
      Well, if you want me
      It’s alright
      It’s alright, it’s alright
     
      Well, if you want me
      It’s alright
      It’s alright, it’s alright
     
      Well, if you want me
      It’s alright (it’s alright)
      It’s alright (it’s alright)
      It’s alright (it’s alright)
     
      Across the deck of the I-90 Bridge BJ guided his heavily-laden tanker—filled to the brim with 8,000 gallons of gasoline toward the city of Seattle, where he would spend the next eight hours transferring his load to various gas stations.
      It was a bummer of a day; overcast, rainy, no view; typical Seattle February. Crossing Lake Washington, BJ slowly entered the eastern portal of the Mount Baker Tunnel when the 27 th (it’s alright) from the Roulettes wasn’t OK.  
      The world as he knew it started to end. BJ Tucker had about ten seconds to live.
      The massive tanker began to shift lanes inside the tunnel; brake lights, blaring horns from other vehicles, then the ever-so-slow fishtail as BJ’s brain turned to oh-shit from it’s alright . Engineers had assured city management that at most the Mt. Baker Tunnel would warp by ½ inch or so; the pressure of the land surrounding the tunnel would make an oval-shaped object virtually impregnable to an earthquake.
      They were, of course, right.
      Except for the fact that independent gasoline hauler BJ Tucker was bringing a full tanker truck of gasoline to the city of Seattle; perfectly legal, this February 20 th wasn’t ban week where the fire suppression system was being tested. On the back of BJ’s truck was the familiar 1203 hazard sign indicating his load.
      BJ’s truck slid across the lighted lane— whoops —no light now, the earthquake had knocked out all lights in the city of Seattle, including lights inside the tunnel. BJ did what he could to right his tanker, but the huge shaker was more than he could handle. The tanker bounced, then slid, hitting the south wall, then back to the north; cars behind him started to smash into each other as the catastrophe came to a conclusion, it slid along the double lanes sideways, throwing up sparks, gasoline spilling in hundreds of gallons by the second, soon ignited.  
      Then whoosh, the westbound lanes of the Mt. Baker Tunnel lit up like a giant Bic. The explosion rocked the entire mountain; flames erupted end-to-end on the westbound tunnel. For someone driving toward Seattle, it would be like being chased by a dragon on drugs with fire coming out its mouth and its ass at the same time; for someone following the truck into the tunnel it would be like being a burger driving into a forty-foot tall BBQ grill. There was nothing left of Mr. BJ (used to like them) Tucker.
      By the time the earthquake had stopped, the automatic fire suppression system inside the four tunnels comprising the Mt. Baker Tunnel had already started, set to be activated automatically one minute after detection, unless activated manually by an operator at the Washington State Department of Transportation Traffic Systems Management Center at 15700 Dayton Avenue in Shoreline. The combination of the gasoline tanker