Sabina and I are at the Warragul show today, showing off Sabina's pony Tornado. Showing is taxing, and between classes we sneak away and have a ride.
Pete is cycling from Melbourne to the farm, as part of his training for the Baw Baw classic.
He calls me on the phone. "I am just outside of Pakenham, and there is a massive black cloud chasing me. It doesn't look pretty. You may need to pick me up, I'll call you again."
Pick him up??! Sabina, float, pony, and he wants me to pick him up? Sheesh.
We wait around for almost an hour, but then the rain drops start falling. Big, heavy rain drops. I bundle Sabina in the car, pony on the float, and we head off.
The rain starts coming down in merciless sheets as we drive. Then it eases off. The phone rings. It's Pete. Come and pick him up from Robin Hood Hotel. Fabulous. I U-turn.
The wind is strong, and with some trepidation I watch the tops of the trees get blown about. I pray with all my might, that a branch doesn't drop on us. With car and float, we make a pretty unmissable target.
Then, in Drouin West, just as we pass the Primary School and the CFA, the deluge commences. Initially we get sheets of rain, just like before, Then it gets stronger, and heavier. A few cars pull off. I understand that according to the laws of probability we are safer moving, and so I drive on, albeit slowly.
I can barely see the road in front of me. Then the rain gets heavier still, and I can no longer see the end of my own bonnet. My entire focus is on that one point where the rain meets the front of my car. It amazes me that a year and one month ago, this area was ungulfed in flames.
Eventually the rain eases off somewhat, and I can start seeing some of the road again. Just in time, as a big puddle looms in front of us. Hydroplaning over it with a float is not my idea of fun. Luckily, I know this road like the back of my hand, and I can judge the depth of this puddle to the centimetre.
We arrive at the Robin Hood Hotel. The wind still howling, the rain still pouring. But we are away from trees and flying branches. I breathe a sigh of relief and sit back in my seat. "Mama", Sabina perks up in the back seat. "You know how you always tell me to be quiet when the weather is on the radio?" I nod. "Well, Mama, did they tell you about this?!" she asks. I laugh. "No, Sabina, they didn't. They just said a couple of passing showers."
We see Peter standing under the eves of the Pub, huddled into an alcove. His bike resting against the wall of the pub, half in the rain. "Mama, I can use the umbrella from my show bag to go and get Papa!" I allow her to have her fun, much to the protests of the father being rescued. For he knows that he has to get saturated regardless, while putting the bike on the roof, and that a Dora umbrella is no match for this force of nature, nor is it truly wide enough for a paddler's shoulders.
I must admit I am somewhat surprised that he is standing outside the pub. I was expecting him to be inside, putting away a beer. But all is explained when bike is on the roof, and Peter and Sabina are safely in the car. "The pub is flooded", he says. "I got here, two minutes before the rain hit. Got myself inside the pub. Then it started pouring. Just outside at first. Then inside. Water started coming in everywhere. Under the doors, through the windows, down the light fittings. I swear, you could stand your glass on the bar, and it would fill with water in seconds. It was drier under the eves outside."
We drive home in the pouring rain, and watch how half of the gravel road to our farm is getting eroded away by instant mini creeks.
Meanwhile ... back at the ranch ...
Everything is fine. The back patio is looking quite flooded, and all the boots standing under the eves are pretty much full of water. I am talking, to the brim. But inside, the house is nice and dry, the sheds are nice and dry, and the horses have kept themselves nicely hidden from the sheer impact of the rain.
