Get the Hell out of Dodge - Part 2
Coming from Scotland, I have seen my fair share of rain. I have even endured Arkansas rain, but I have never experienced rain such as the deluge I encountered in Wichita. The raindrops were so fat they glinted like diamonds on the Queen’s tiara as they thumped down onto the pavement. They also obviously contained some kind of rubber, for on hitting the ground they bounced back up at least two feet. This meant you got hit on the head on their way down and your legs were pummeled on the way back up. They fell in such multitudes from the sky that I was drenched top down and bottom up within the two seconds it took for me to get out of the car and put up my umbrella. Eight inches (20 cm) fell within eight hours on the Saturday of our week in Wichita, which was to be an opportunity for us to catch up and stay with a former US Navy buddy of Richard’s over the July 4th celebrations. A sudden furious thunderstorm lashed Benny, our intrepid truck, and the Jet, our 3...