Paul Richardson: The floating bed and other stories

Saturday was a reunion of memories of when the best laid plans fell right in line with a deluge. We knew the rain was coming, but was just hoping for a brief light shower, one from which we could return to our duties with little consequence. A light shower, it was not.

It was shorter in duration than what had been forecasted. The oracles of weather had forecasted a rain event from eleven that morning, enduring until two that afternoon. It came at eleven but was finished by noon. Not too bad, just a step for a stepper. One hour of purgatory, a wet purgatory, and then the day breaks open with moderate temperatures and partly cloudy skies.

The attendance climax, that was building before the rain, returned and the crowd stayed steady until closing time. Since I had seen this many times before, it doesn’t surprise me, but I am always questioning, “Where did all the people go during the downpour?”

The crowd, it seems, had packed out every restaurant, fast-food joint, convenience store, and any other available dry shelter that they could find. A few told me that they had went home, changed into dry clothes, waited out the rain, and promptly returned once they felt that the last drop had dripped. We had a few that packed into the shelter that our vending tents provided, but that only protected us from what was falling and not from the rising water around our feet. 

Routinely we would be required to dump the standing water that was collecting in some pockets created by the force of the rain on the top of the tents. Four of our co-habitants were short people of varying ages, but all the children of one family. The father of the children was an old friend of mine and had worked for me when he was in high school. 

At least two of his kids found a great time in positioning themselves directly below the discharge that came from the tent roof when we had to dump the water. It turns out you can only get wet to a certain level. Nothing matters after full saturation. We weren’t bothered by it, their parents weren’t bothered by it, let the kids have their fun!

I have endured rain in all forms. Flooding rains while camping, vending, hosting events, and riding. Rains where the water ran through the tent. On one occasion it was, “thank goodness for air mattresses,” as those allowed us to float on top of the river that ran through the tent. On one occasion we were instructed to evacuate a campground due to pending floods. The storm passed, the flood didn’t develop, fortunately. Afterwards the good wife and I were able to save all of our gear.

A few of years ago, the goodwife and I rode through thunderstorms and solid rain from Wichita to our home, four hours of constant soaking. As I pointed out earlier, you can only get so wet. You just peel the clothes off and immediately put them in the washing machine. If you are camping, you try to dry them out over the campfire. You take on a bit of a smokey smell, but in absence of a floating bed, any other approach would be futile!