Avast! The scuppers are awash!

As a boy, we spent most summer weeks at my grandparents' house in upper Michigan. The cousins had a lake cottage up the street, and we frequently were aboard small boats. Living in Michigan - anywhere in Michigan - one was never far from a natural lake, on which boating abounded.

For all my experiences afloat, I was never really SECURE on a floating piece of fiberglass. The feeling of being jostled by the waves, the sound of water slapping against the bottom of the vessel, these always gave me a vague sense of nausea.

I've now lived in Houston twenty-nine years, and I've been able to avoid being afloat most of this time. I've been aboard a few larger boats, Texans tending to do things in a big way, but even there, the unsettled stomach persists.

Having lived here this long, I've become well familiar with street flooding that defies description. We get rain that comes down so hard and so fast that parts of the city are awash until the storm drains catch up. I've used nearly every car I've owned these last twenty-nine years as a life raft or rowboat.

In fact, last year I drove the Bonneville through water that seriously made me question my decision making skills. She came through like a champ - and I was lucky.

I have, however, never been trapped in standing water, unable to go anywhere - even to seek higher ground.

Until Thursday.

Thursday night, the lightning storm over Houston was worthy of inclusion in a summer blockbuster movie. It was mostly dry leaving UofH, and I took my usual route home.

As I came around to Richmond Avenue, I could see that it was under water from curb to opposite curb.

I could also see that people were, predictably, making very poor choices and were unwilling to consider the effects of their choices on others.

I had three or four choices - proceed through on Richmond, which would take me through the highest water foreseeable, pull into the Best Buy parking lot and wait, turn around and wait in a dry parking lot behind me, or try to cut around the back way to get home.

I chose option #4.

Right now, knowing what I know, either option #2 or #3 would have been superior.

When I got around to the "back way", I quickly ran into standing water that had already disabled a number of cars. I could see very clearly that the water was not high enough to impede my moving through it (as long as I didn't do anything stupid). I made it through this patch of stalled or waiting cars to the intersection, and found myself walled in by high water.

So, I made the turn and stopped. And waited. For three hours.

The water was about curb height, and I was right next to the curb. According to Yahoo Answers, the average vertical curb is six inches high, which seems about right, if not a shade high. My car has ground clearance of about 4.5 inches to the chassis, and about 6.25 inches to the bottom of the doors. I was in the clear, as long as the water didn't rise.

I turned the car off, and waited.

For three hours.

During this time, larger vehicles - Suburbans, Tahoes, wreckers, Tundras, Silverados, Expeditions - kept attempting to breach the high water.

And I spent three hours feeling like I did when sitting in a little aluminum boat on Lake Missaukee. The sound of the water sloshing underneath the chassis, occasionally, when someone would really power through, the feeling of being rocked in someone else's wake.

My 3700 pound car was LIFTED up by the water pressure at least twenty times.

As I said, the car was above the water level. I opened my door several times to make sure.

However - the bow waves pushed by these large trucks swamped my Buick.

Do you remember the movie "Christine"? Where the 1957 Plymouth Fury goes on a rampage? It's from 1983, but it's still a great watch.

The Fury is restored by one Arnie, who works at a local repair garage owned by Will Darnell. One evening, after going out for a murderous spin, Christine returns to the garage, still smoking hot from having been ablaze. Darnell (played by Robert Prosky) checks out the driver-less, smoldering car and gets behind the wheel. The radio fires up, and begins playing a '50s tune. Then, the power seat cranks forward all the way, crushing Darnell to death behind the steering wheel.

Let me tell you what that's like in REAL life.

After having sat there for about a half hour, the first big wave rocked the car and .. the stereo (which was turned OFF) started making some beeping noises. I was on the phone with Billy (who was at home, only ten blocks away and telling me that the water in our street was over ten inches deep) and he kept asking "WHAT IS THAT NOISE?"

Then, the driver's seat moved. On its own. Uncommanded. It lurched forward over the space of some thirty seconds, until I was wondering whether my recent weight loss could save me Prosky's fate from the movie.

It stopped.

New beeping came from under the dash, as well as the sounds of different relays firing.

All of this activity came after someone had come barreling down the road, raising the water level by - oh, about four to six inches.

The outside mirrors started to move - the right one pointing downward and the left one pointing outward - until they reached their stops and then kept right on trying.

The driver's seat now began lurching backward - an inch or two - then nothing. Then, another inch or two. Then, nothing. Finally, it had worked itself back as far as the track would allow it to go.

Frustrated, whichever electrical gremlin was doing the driving decided to recline the backrest - ALL the way back.

Of course, given that it seemed I may be spending the night there, that was indeed a convenient position.

I've been asked why I didn't just leave the car and walk the ten blocks home. Well, the wreckers (all of which are raised up and have heavy suspensions) were TOWING cars out of the water like mad. Leaving the car would have clearly meant - paying the impound fee and such. Plus, I could see that the water was receding.

But, wait!

Now come the sightseers!

Without any purpose, the flow of pick ups, Hummers and their ilk ramped up until I felt sure I was tied to the little boat dock in front of my cousin's cottage.

Finally, the water had receded enough that I could try to make it home, but now I was blocked in by three wreckers, each of whom kept telling me to try a different route home - impossible to act upon because of the position of their buddies.

She started and ran just fine, but .. she's now next door, the interior pulled out, battery disconnected, drying out. Hopefully, the electronics modules that so objected to immersion will be able to recover.

Moral of this story:

No matter how careful or measured one's response to danger may be, you can always count on someone to barge past heedlessly, imperiling your safety.

So, to the forty or so pickups, wreckers, SUVs and especially to the wild eyed woman plowing through at over twenty miles an hour in her Expedition, thanks.

From Victoria, who never wanted the role of Christine.