Flash Floods, Dirt Roads & Kansas Hospitality

Mammatus clouds spread across the sky in the height of Tornado Season in the heart of Tornado Alley, right on the border of Nebraska and Kansas.

This one time, in Kansas, I got stuck in the mud, all alone, in the middle of nowhere. No GPS signal, no cell service. Just me, my maps, and a hefty sack of goldfish by my side. I left Colby, Kansas bright and early – bound for Monument Rocks in Oakley, Kansas. After a delightful detour at the Buffalo Bill Cultural Center and one at the Keystone Gallery, I turned back onto US-83 for all of two seconds before my GPS left me with one final direction: turn left onto an unmarked dirt road. I squealed with excitement, turned up my favorite Doobie Brothers jam, and began munching away on my delicious goldfishes. It took less than a quarter of a mile for me to realize that the dirt road I was on was muddy and slippery as hell. Instead of my back tires kicking up dust like a classic Western scene, my wheels churned the thick brown muck beneath them like cake batter under a mixer. Broke-down tumbleweeds were held captive in the muddy ditch that cradled the road. I remembered my new friend at Buffalo Bill's telling me to take it slow on that desolate dirt road, and Barbara from the Keystone Gallery's subtle warning that didn't really register at the time, "That road might be a bit tricky, you know...after the floods and all." So I took my speed down to about 15 mph and tried to avoid any particularly dark, wet spots, but I was still sliding all over the road. I started to feel a bit sick and scared, but I was determined to see Kansas's Chalk Pyramids. So, I kept skidding on down the road. It was a lot like driving on a sheet of ice. Very little control of the car and it glided like marbles over a frozen lake. I wondered if I'd eventually see another car. Then I realized that the only tracks on the road were the ones trailing behind me. "Shit!" I thought to myself, "Locals definitely know not to drive on a road like this the morning after tornados and flash floods soaked everything around." About a mile or two down that long, lonesome road I spotted my first saturated patch that seemed impassable.

For a split second, I thought about making a 12-point turn, and heading back, but I came all that way, right? I had to test the muddy waters, right? So, I did. My heart pounded hard against the wall of my chest, and my palms began to sweat. I turned the AC up way high and slowed way down to enter the mud puddle. Not really knowing if it was the right approach, I tried to speed through it, hoping the front wheels would get out quickly, pulling the rest of the car through seamlessly. But it didn't really go down like that. I fishtailed a bit. My back end started swinging up and around, while my front end was sinking and turning back towards the way I came in. My eyes widened. I clamped both hands firmly on the wheel and jerked it back right while giving it some gas. A heavy, sludgy sound came from beneath the car, and chunks of mud flew out from under my tires, spraying all over the dark, treacherous trail behind me. My car was almost completely perpendicular to the road, but not giving up without a fight. I hit the gas a little harder and suddenly it shot forward and almost into the ditch with all the comatose tumbleweeds. But my quick little hands yanked the wheel back around to safety, and we were straight and good to go. I crept on with trepidation; now only three miles down the road and approximately seven from my destination. And it didn’t take long for an even bigger mess of mud to appear just around the bend. I laughed to myself; after all the time I'd spent researching how to get out of a tornado's way (drive at right angles in the direction the tornado is heading) and what to do if you're in your car and you just can't get out of its way in time. Hell, I even bought an emergency survival kit in preparation for my ultimate adventure vacation. I had lists of all the AM radio weather stations in every county from North Dakota through Nebraska, and all the way down to Arkansas. I had the Red Cross Tornado app locked and loaded, enough water and salty snacks to last me for days, but even with all that genuinely joyous prep work under my belt, I'd never once considered what it might be like to drive through the aftermath of the storms.

Flood zones, entire highways being shut down, wreckage in the roads, muddy dirt roads, tennis-ball-sized hail wrecking every available, substitute rental car from Hays to Manhattan, Kansas. But figuring out as you go and reacting on the fly is half the fun. And that's just what I did. I crept into the next big, beefy trench at about the same speed as last time, but I melted in even quicker. I accelerated harder and didn't budge an inch. Gave it even more gas and my rear end only sank deeper into the muck. I wiggled the wheels from side to side hoping to loosen things up on the ground and free my four falling tires. It did nothing but create a bigger mess. SHIT! I hit the gas even harder, the speedometer read 65, and I twisted the wheel back and forth violently. I even tried rocking the car forward and back in hopes to shake the two-ton vehicle loose with my hundred-pound body. Now, gobs of mud were flying up and over my car from behind my back tires. It looked like an endless supply of sloppy Joes was raining down onto my hood and windshield. I hit the gas harder. What else could I do, right? My wipers struggled to keep my windshield clear, my speedometer now read 85, and I was sweating like Texas cattle being herded to the slaughterhouse. Cursing my head off, whipping the steering wheel furiously in a desperate attempt to catapult my car to freedom, I floored it. Pedal to the metal, strangling my steering wheel to death, I managed to launch the beast up and out of the mud. I swear we got some air at blastoff. The car was free! Victory was mine! But just a few feet ahead, an even bigger mess lay ahead of me. This tale is to be continued in a post entitled, “Mud Can Get Into the Tires & Your Eyelashes As Well.”