The Day that the rains came down

How many are old enough to remember the song. "The Day That The Rains Came Down", by Jane Morgan, from the sixties?

Kearney, Nebraska, is some 60 miles north of Alma, and this morning in a space of two to three hours it received over six inches of rain. The thing that makes that fact of interest to me is that I was in Kearney at the time. Kearney hosts the nearest Wal-Mart, Target, Wells Fargo Bank, and Burger King among others, so I find myself there from time to time. This morning was an adventure.

It was raining but not heavily when my youngest daughter and I entered a bank to do some business, which took about 45 minutes. We could hear rain pounding the roof while we were in there, and even though my car was parked directly in front of the bank and only 10 feet from the door, when we left we were drenched by the time we got inside the car.

Since the noon hour was fast approaching, we cautiously traversed a couple of fairly well flooded intersections to get to one of the local food places. Mama Nature continued to drown Kearney while we ate, and by the time we came out (this time with an umbrella that wasn't a whole lot of help), street flooding was the order of the day and any drying out we did in the restaurant was completely undone by a new soaking.

We headed back toward the highway that would take us back to Alma and found Kearney street traffic reduced to a crawl. Kearney is a good sized town of about 30,000 and its primary through street is four lanes and divided, but of course the lane nearest the curb was unusable because of flooding, so everybody drove in the left lane. Intersections were one step short of impassable. Four or five intersections in a row we saw at least two cars flooded out and stalled. We proceeded at a snail's pace so that we didn't create a wake that would throw water up into the engine compartment and force us to join those waiting in two to three feet of water for some help. We made it OK and got to higher ground safely, but not before I learned something about Nebraska drivers.

Take heart those of you who are decent, safe driving Californians, you are not alone in encounters with crazy people who drive. Nebraska also has its allotment of jerks and inconsiderate idiots who drive jacked up pickup trucks. While we were inching along carefully in the left lane so as to not stall out, we were passed on the right by a speeding pickup truck with those big wheels and no fear of stalling. He seemed to be enjoying kicking up a huge wake of water as he traveled, the wake rising about three to five feet in the air and absolutely swamping ordinary sedans (including mine) in the left lane. Other than blinding me for a few seconds with a flooded windshield, we suffered no ill effects except for my anger at that yayh0o and a desire to do him great bodily harm. There are times I wish I was young again and stood about six feet four inches and weighed 250 pounds. I would then take that pickup driver into a locked room and "explain" a few things to him. Perhaps a few lumps and some minor maiming would help him demonstrate more acceptable social behavior. Is it possible to "maim" someone just a little bit? Hmmm.

Normally I allow at least a full five minutes for those kind of thoughts to bounce around inside my skull before I clear them out as poison to the soul and move on to more productive uses for my brain cells, like, wow - only one more month until college football starts. On a later post, I'll try to describe what life is like in Nebraska Cornhusker territory for a guy with a UCLA Bruins license plate frame on his rear bumper.