LAST EDITED ON 05-31-15 AT 10:00 AM (EST)I hope everybody had a memorable and enjoyable Memorial Day. This is what I did on Memorial Day. God? It’s me, Noah. Is that you, God? So my brother and I attended a Houston Rockets basketball game on Memorial Day evening. In Houston. The Rockets won the first series in the NBA playoffs against the Los Angeles Clippers and the Memorial Day weekend gave us the perfect opportunity to see a game in the second series against the Golden State Warriors. So, spur of the moment, we put together a quick plan to attend. The game started at about 7:00 pm on Memorial Day and ended about 10:30 pm. I flew in and my brother drove over from Louisiana. We had his car for transportation. That evening, during the game, it began to rain. The noise inside the Toyota Center (the game venue) pretty much prevented the storm from being heard inside, but that’s when it began to come down. (Ok, just to get this out of the way, the Rockets won easily, but sadly were defeated the following Wednesday, and the Golden State Warriors even more sadly took the series 4-1. Well, at least we did get to watch the Rockets win. It was the lone victory of the series against the Warriors for the Rockets, and the high point of their 2014-2015 season. And that’s a little better than having had to watch one of the losses.) Continuing: Great game (for Rockets fans, I am one). But after the game there was an announcement that rain had begun, that thunderstorm and flood warnings were being issued by the National Weather Service, and that fans were told to stay in their seats until it was safe. I had visions of the Louisiana Super Dome after hurricane Katrina. So no thanks. We, along with hundreds of other fans, started heading for the exits in spite of the warnings. As it turned out, many fans did spend the night inside the stadium. But as we were leaving, my wallet was pickpocketed. I think it then then, but we had been seated next to a couple of pretty suspicious guys, so who knows. Maybe it was them, they did get up and leave sometime during the fourth quarter. Actually, everybody seems suspicious to me, looking back. Driver’s license, credit cards, insurance cards, cash, and various and sundry. Gone. Checked with venue security personnel and lost and found, but to no avail. Left my name and number there. But it turns out the thief had tried to use my CCs to buy nearly $1000 worth of stuff at Target within an hour or so of the theft. So it was a theft, I didn’t just lose it, and my hopes of a Good Samaritan turning it in to lost-and-found evaporated. I couldn’t do much more about that at the moment, and so we left for home. Worry about that later. The rain couldn’t be so bad, we reasoned, it was just rain, not tornadoes or hurricanes, so we could make it, right? I mean, we were rained on as we trotted to the car parked two blocks away, but we weren’t soaked, not really even very wet. Just wet hair and shoulders, hardly an out of the ordinary rain storm at that moment. But unfortunately we did not have access to the ominous weather reports coming out of National Weather Service which indicated that epic rain was hitting other parts of Houston, including the Southwest area where we were heading. The same storms that during past two days had dumped unprecedented amounts of rain in central Texas and caused death, devastation, and flooding in our beloved Texas Hill country (we have family history there), and would cause more death and destruction elsewhere. Anyway, we knew that Houston is a flat coastal city prone to flash flooding during heavy rains. And the weather was definitely alarming. But the intensity of the storm at that point was not enough to deter us from trying to get to where we wanted to go. So we left downtown heading south on the Southwest Freeway for the drive home. Water beginning to puddle on the Southwest Freeway was our first sign that we might be underestimating the situation. Coming up on closed exits was our second. Still, for the most part progress was just slowed, not stopped, and we were still optimistic that we had a reasonable chance to reach where we expected to spend the night, a relative’s house in Bellaire (southwest Houston). But we were trying to work out what would be the safest route to get there, one that did not include big dips or low spots. We had some 30+ year old knowledge of the layout of Houston, but we were fuzzy on the topography. Where were the low areas? Where were the big dips that could swallow up our car? We weren’t really sure, but we were optimistic that we could figure it all out. We’re smart, right? Hubris is a bitch. We managed to get to the West part of Loop 610 which circles the inner city. This section of the Loop is called the West Loop. We got off the SW Freeway and headed South on the West Loop, debating whether to get off at each exit we passed. Traffic here was light and the road wasn’t underwater, so we finally made up our minds to exit at N. Braeswood Blvd. and go east. Our intended destination was only short two miles away from there. Surely we could go another two miles? Well, our plan was flawed. As it turns out, N. Braeswood follows, in a general way, Brays Bayou. In Southwest Houston. This is where the flood was starting to accumulate, and was destined to be one of the worst hit totally flooded out parts of town. Brays Bayou was rapidly rising and N. Braeswood Blvd. was rapidly filling up. As the water deepened and we began to leave a motorboat wake, we became sufficiently alarmed to look for higher ground. At this point were in front of an indoor Self-Storage facility which the builder had been foresighted enough to locate 7 ½ lovely feet above street level, so we turned in and parked on that higher ground. The N. Braeswood Blvd. exit is off the West Loop, and is (if you’re traveling south) after the exits to Bissonnet, Bellaire, and Beechnut. We passed these exits by. Either of these three would have provided a safe route to our destination. This post mortem realization is a source of chagrin for us. It might help to see a map of the area.
http://tinyurl.com/no4h7xy (Blow the map up to see the area where 610 West - the West Loop - turns east and becomes 610 south - the South Loop. We were a little east of where N. Braeswood passes under the West Loop). So we pulled into the lot. It was about midnight at this point. We were marooned. During the night the water rose several feet. Early on, and from our perch, we watched as a few daring but idiotic motorists tried and failed to drive up the street only to have to abandon their cars as they all but completely disappeared from view. Other local businesses that were not 7 ½ feet above the street also began to see high water. One in particular was a pet boarding business across N. Braeswood Blvd from where were stranded called “You Lucky Dog” (irony is also a bitch), and was not on elevated ground. Only apprehension in regard to our own fate kept us from dwelling too long on what might be happening inside the kennel. We did think about the people that might have drowned in the various cars that were underwater. Think about them was all we did. The current was too swift to negotiate right then. There were deaths in various areas of the city from the flood, but not in those cars. We tried to sleep, looking out thru the front windshield at what seemed like a waterfall of rain. Fitful sleep at best, although my brother mentioned that I did snore some. That must have been fun for him. We learned later that the rain fell at over 3 inches an hour, and this went on for 4-5 hours. A lot of water. 3 inches an hour is sufficiently dense so that you don’t see individual drops anymore, it just seems like a solid stream of water. As mentioned, sleeping was fitful, and so we took turns venturing out (we had a mighty tough umbrella courtesy of a former employer) to check the rising water. And deposit our own water. We nervously relocated the car a few times. The illumination from the constant lightning bolts (oh yeah, the lightning was loud, almost continuous and hitting much too close) clued us in that water was beginning to surround the lot on all sides. And as dawn approached, the rain abated, and as the full extent of the flooding became evident, we found that we were marooned on an island in the middle a new feature we named Brays Lake. And we were on My Island (as rulers of the island, we felt that we could name it anything we wanted. At that point we thought we were the sole inhabitants of My Island). Brays Bayou had seemingly engulfed everything in sight except for our own little desert isle refuge. The water never rose the 7 ½ feet it would have taken to engulf us, I estimate that it topped 4 to 5 feet, though, so that was good and we were safe-ish, but we were still stranded without food, water, or Rx until the water drained, or a rescue boat came, or a helicopter, or something. That morning we saw a rescue boat (a zodiac? RIB?) zip by with two guys in orange outfits and helmets (fire department emergency personnel? Prison escapees?) at a higher rate of speed that seemed sane considering that they were in shallow uncharted and newly created waters. We later learned that a rescue boat (presumably these guys) had tried to rescue someone who was in trouble, had flipped their boat, and the unlucky person being rescued had drowned. An 87 YO guy. His body was later found in the Houston ship channel according to local media. I am glad I was persuaded not to flag them down as they passed. The rain finally ended and blue sky began to show in spots. We were worried that water was still draining our way from other areas and might continue to rise where we were, and as we fretted, the door to the Self Storage opened and (let’s call him) Wally walked out. So this was Wally’s Island after all. That this wasn’t My Island did not make us sad. Fortunately for us he was a very nice guy, and didn’t mind us having had to spend the night in his parking lot. We didn’t mention the fact that since there were no sanitary facilities in the parking lot, we had been forced to use his lot for our bathroom (hope he doesn’t read this). He, with his charming wife and daughter, was the live-in manager of the facility. And he was very accommodating. He could have looked out during the night and seen us, but that really would have been expecting too much considering the weather. He did provide water and soft drinks and snacks and an air conditioned space to hang out in. It should go without mentioning that humidity was a big factor that morning. So we watched the water level ebb as Bray’s Lake drained. It did not drain quickly. It did not seem to be draining at all in fact. By noon it was evident that we would not be driving away before dark, and we really had had enough of that place. Several people started to swim the flooded street. Several more waded through the chest deep water, and several, after the water had gone down about a foot and a swampy path opened up from the north, began to cross over into our (our? OK, Wally’s) lot. One guy on a bike (?) appeared who wanted to cross the flooded street to retrieve his dog from the flooded kennel. He looked at the current and the depth of the water across the road, and left for a while before making up his mind and returning to give it a go. He brought snacks when he returned. Nice guy. He retrieved his soggy pet and went happily on his way. Then came Ginny. She showed up with a very nervous and (I think) ancient Chihuahua in her arms. She was not a large woman, thin, 5’5” or so, 110 lbs (maybe, soaking wet, which she was), not guessing age (ok, she was well out of her thirties). But she had real true grit. She had parked her car in a dry spot on the other side of the marsh that had been part of our newly named Brays Lake and had waded over to where we were. She arrived at our refuge isle, and showing no fear or hesitation she parked the small dog in my arms and set out across the boulevard through the flood to retrieve another dog from the kennel. It was a friend’s dog that she was saving, a friend who was out of town and was frantic about her pet’s safety. And being the supremely good Samaritan that she is, she set out to save the dog to ease her friend’s worry. She made it across to the kennel OK. However the return trip was a little more perilous. She was returning with the dog (didn’t catch its name) and trying to hold it out of the water while at the same time trying to keep a bag of its supplies that she had also retrieved out of the water. The struggling 30 lb. dog was definitely threatening to upset the applecart while she was wading through what was for her (by now) flowing water that varied from chest deep (on her) to waist deep. My brother waded out to help her and met her about half way. But she would only yield the bag of supplies, she would not/could not/did not give up the dog. And they made it. Hats off to Ginny, thy name is Intrepid. I am full of admiration for this woman. A good friend and a magnificent Samaritan if there ever was one. My brother and I, being the sort of people who would not deny a Good Samaritan the chance to be an even Better Samaritan, accepted her offer to give us a ride to what had been our original pre-flood destination. So, Ginny also rescued us (two more wet mutts) from the flood. Thanks Ginny, the world needs a lot more of you. We could use a lot more of Wally and family too. After resting in comfort, getting clean, and downing an appropriate amount of inebriating beverages, we returned that evening to retrieve the car after the waters had finally drained. We would say thanks to William et.al. before finally driving away. Dealing with the theft is still on-going, but so far so good. For future reference:
So I had to start dealing with the sad details of preventing all of the bad things that happen when someone steals your wallet. Cancelling credit cards was obvious. But, for instance, what do you do when you are away from home having arrived there via airplane, and your all of identification and credit cards etc. are lost? Everything is gone. No check book, no insurance cards, no business cards, nothing with your name on it. You’re stranded wherever you happen to be, seemingly without a way to get past the airline ticket counter, or more imposingly, TSA. Credit and gratitude for a correct solution goes to several people, R. at work, sister J., a world traveling executive in the Houston oil industry, and another sister B., a P.I. in Houston. The truth is that TSA has various procedures for people who show up for flights without ID’s for whatever reason, but if it’s the result of a crime, making a police report of the incident and presenting that to the TSA agent is the thing to do. TSA will still pull you aside and perform a polite interrogation and pat down, but if you are who you say you are, you’ll get thru. 15-20 minutes. Also, gratitude to my brother for the loan of some emergency cash and a credit card, and for waiting while I went thru TSA. If they had not allowed me to board my flight, I would have needed his assistance in getting home.
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Agman's Spring Fling '12
