Kansas and Wichity Wichita
November 1, 1998
It was Halloween in Wichita. The rain had been falling all day. After lunch at the Amish Carriage Crossing Restaurant in Yoder, KA, Ellen (our daughter) was driving us back to Wichita. Rain continued to fall and was beginning to form large pools of water in the fallow sorghum and winter wheat fields along the highway. Maybe it was a hint of forthcoming events -- the church we passed was named the “Ark Church.” It was built in the shape of a large wooden ark. We looked for evidence of animals being loaded into the ark as accumulated rainfall covered the church parking lot. Relieved to see no giraffe heads sticking out of the roof, we continued our drive. Then an event took place that shook us up somewhat. In the heavy rain, Ellen did not see a large pool of water in the truck ruts of the highway. The front tires hit this water and began to plane. As Ellen turned to escape this water, the tires skidded until they suddenly regained traction and the car lurched a few feet sideways. I woke with a start from my post-lunch nap as I was thrown sideways in the back seat. Ellen regained control of the car and decided to drive more slowly. Other drivers -- less concerned with the rain -- flew by us at 70 mph.
We were visiting our 93-year-old Aunt Hazel, who lives in Wichita. Ellen joined us after taking a detour from a business trip to Denver. As Ellen, Pat and Hazel returned from an afternoon tea, they were greeted by a prematurely dark sky and early headlights on the cars. The bands of rain showed yellow and red colors on the Weather Channel maps -- and it was on top of us. As we left Hazel’s apartment, darkness greeted us along with copious amounts of rain. I ran out through the rain and backed the car as close to Hazel’s front door as possible. Ellen dashed out, carrying my notebook computer and got fairly wet while placing it in the back seat. Pat raced around behind the car and smashed into the bike rack as she was jumping a puddle. The rack, which extends back from the spare tire on the rear door, struck her in the chest and mouth. She showed us the bruises later. (No! Pat is not blind or senile! This bike rack is painted black and is fundamentally invisible in the dark and rain.)
Knowing that Ellen’s eyes and reflexes are better than mine, I asked her to drive. Oncoming headlights pierced the rain and reflected off the wet highway so that our vision of the highway was impaired. Rain began to fall more intensely. High beams became useless -- they showed only a near-solid sheet of rain. But driving with lights on low beam did not reveal water flowing across the highway. We were unaware of this water until our tires hit the water, spray flew past the windows and pounded the underside of the car. My first sensation was a pleasure that modern autos do not drown-out as easily as the cars we drove when I was a young man. Just a small amount of water in the distributor or on the spark plugs and the engine would die. We felt very fortunate that this unseen water was no more than about six inches deep. Ellen drove on through the water with no complications.
Our destination was 25 miles west of Wichita, so there was abundant opportunity to see more water on the highway. Ellen drove slowly and carefully. The intensity of the rain slowed so that the high-beams could penetrate the rain enough to see the next hazard. The white, center stripe disappeared into the dark, black body of water covering the highway. Grass, sticks and other flotsam lined the edge of the water flowing across the highway. Ellen stopped the car as we were reminded of the oft-repeated warning not to drive through water over the highway -- it may be deeper than it appears. Then we could see that on the downstream side of the road, the water was falling off the edge of the pavement and was only a few inches deep. Knowing that water was flooding on the road behind us and that it may have risen since we passed, we decided to attempt to cross rather than retreat. Visions of folks stranded on the tops of sunken autos in raging country creeks filled our minds. We could not see a water-free highway on the other side of the flooded area, but as far as we could see the water was fairly shallow. An auto was parked on the other side with its headlights shining toward us. After fording through about 100 yards of water, we reached the other car. A sign on a barricade in front of the car informed us that the highway through which we had just passed was closed due to high water. There had been none on the other side of the water.
The rain had intensified when we reached the motorhome at Lake Cheney. It was falling in large drops that blew sideways and soaked the legs of my blue jeans below the raincoat as I tried to find the keyhole to the door in the dark. Like a blind man, I found the keyhole using the sense of touch. The key would not enter the hole because some goblin must have reversed the orientation of the keyhole while we were gone. A strong blast of wind blew my raincoat open as I finally remember that it was Halloween and tricks were being played on unsuspecting victims. Finally, the key found its way into the keyhole, but the spooks returned: the key was somehow turned the wrong way so when it was removed, the door was still locked. Pat and Ellen stood patiently behind me in the dark and rain as I tried again. Finally, success! Scraping our shoes on the outdoor shoe brush, we stepped inside a cold, dark motorhome and dripped water all over the carpet before we could shed our soaked shoes and wet raincoats. A gust of wind slammed the door closed behind us. (Interesting how wet and cold folks often giggle, laugh and become somewhat hyper when faced with such uncomfortable situations.) I flicked the switch on the electric heater, but it was dead. The electrical system in the whole park was apparently dead. “Aha!” I thought. “We are not reliant on outside electricity. We can create our own!” I cranked on the propane generator, the electric heaters began to glow, and we were soon cozy in our temporary home at Cheney State Park.
From this site, we had enjoyed three days of sunshine and warm, fall weather. Now, during daylight hours, we watched rain squalls sweep across Lake Cheney from the windows of our motorhome.
We visited with Ellen through the late evening while watching TV reports of floods on local weather. The ten o’clock, TV weatherman reported that six inches of rain had fallen and he would not be surprised to see another four inches before morning. A line of heavy rainstorms coming up from Abilene, TX through Oklahoma showed on the radar. Like cars in a freight train, the heavy storm cells flowed in a continuous line, hour after hour, across central Kansas. The caboose of this “train” was located in El Paso, TX and the engine was heading northeast across Wichita. The center of the large, low-pressure system was stalled over Lubbock, TX and was picking up Gulf moisture and dumping it on the Wichita area. The heaviest rain continued to fall west of Wichita, close to Lake Cheney and where we were.
As we got ready for bed, I began to worry. Would the waters of Lake Cheney rise faster than they could flow out of the lake overflow? Were we in danger of being flooded in our motorhome on the banks of the lake? Shining the flashlight out through the falling rain, I could see no evidence that the lake was about to come out of its banks. But throughout the night I slept sporadically as I listened carefully for the sound of waves that might be heard if water began to lap under the motorhome. Pat slept easily, soundly and unconcerned. The wind and rain continued, so it was difficult to determine whether I was hearing wind or waves. When the morning light first appeared, I was relieved to see that the lake was still within its banks and no threat to us. Then it dawned on me. Maybe an electrical storm, while we were gone, had switched the breaker switch on the post outside our RV. And sure enough – a flick of the switch and we had electric heat again.
With electricity turned on, we could watch local TV while we ate our pancakes and fat-free sausage. A wet-headed reporter appeared at a nursing home which was flooded in western Wichita. Local heroes in boats were rescuing an older lady together with her oxygen tank. It was dramatic stuff and we felt lucky to be warm, dry and satiated.
Later in the day we drove Ellen to the airport to catch her flight. It had been a good visit. We had enjoyed great company and an excellent visit with family who also happen to be friends. And Yes! We survived the Kansas Halloween floods. As the weatherman said: “The bad news is that floods have drowned cars and flooded homes, but the good news is that there were no tornados.” Trick or treat?
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