The View From the Bus: Riders on the Storm

The problem with being a weather nerd is that you can really convince yourself you are so savvy with all the radars and models that you actually can beat the odds and win a game of cat-and-mouse with the weather.

One of these days I'll learn.

It was a Wednesday, so my wife had the car and the plan was for me to ride the bus home. No problem. There was a storm system moving in from the southwest, but there would be plenty of time. There were tornado warnings in Pettis County and then more in Cooper County, but all of that nastiness was going to slide to the north of Columbia, so no problem.

The problems don't come until I've already stepped onto the bus and then the rain starts to pick up and the winds start to blowing.

I stepped off the Pink Route bus at Womens & Childrens Hospital, ready to sit in the hospital cafeteria for the 20 minute wait for the Blue Route Bus. The moment I stepped down from the bus the severe weather warning sirens started to go off. I heard the bus driver yell, "You'd better get into the hospital!" as he shut the door of the bus and drove off.

I took a few steps toward the building and then thought better of it. I used to work in that hospital and I know what happens when there are sirens going off. If I go in there, they'll make me gather with everybody else in the "safe spots".  I'd already learned from Twitter on my smart phone that the warning was in effect until 5:00 PM, which would be a good 10-15 minutes later than the Blue bus was scheduled to pick me up.

Twitter also was telling me that the actual rotation that triggered the warning was down int he southern part of the county and wouldn't be posing any real threat to me at the northeast corner of CoMo.

So I ducked into the plexiglass bus shelter and stood there to wait.

The Blue bus, of course, was running behind because of rush hour traffic in steadily increasing rain. And the pitter patter of rain on the roof of the shelter was turning into a louder rat-a-tat.

I was still out of the rain, though, so I didn't really care. Until I realized that a slowly rising stream of water was swirling under my feet.

Just as I was about to step up onto the shelter's bench to get out of the rushing water, the Blue bus came over the ridge. I pulled my hoodie over my head and stepped out to the bus stop to get the driver's attention. I did not want her to miss me this time.

No sooner was I safely inside the bus than the heavens opened up and the rain became a deluge.

From behind me I heard a voice cry out, "Y'alls roof is leaking back here!" I turned to look and the emergency exit hatch located in the roof had a rapid dripping of rainwater coming from the edges. (Yes, the emergency hatch is on the roof. I try not to think too long about why they need an emergency hatch on the roof.)

I began to wonder what I was going to do when I got to my final bus stop. It's a good half mile walk to my house from there. I carry an umbrella in my bus pack, but it was starting to look like I'd need an inflatable raft and a paddle to get home. If you look closely at the picture at the left, which I took during this ride, you'll see there was a homeless guy standing in his usual spot in the rain. He probably saw that as an opportunity to get some sympathy donations, but I had no interest in drowning myself at the side of a road just blocks from my home.

I could get off at the stop regardless of the rain's intensity and make a mad dash for the relative shelter of the Sonic drive-in across the street. I could probably ride out the heaviest of the rain there.

I could also just stay on the bus and ride it around the circuit again, hoping the rain let up in the 30-40 minutes it took to get back to my stop.

Before I go there, my wife called me, frantically worrying that I was walking along in a severe storm. She had driven through hail on her drive and was now at home, eager to come pick me up.

I almost missed getting off at the stop, though. A block away from my stop, the overhead severe storm sirens started blaring from a horn situated right above us. At the same time, the bus driver's radio burst forth with a loud severe weather warning.

In all that noise, and with the rain doing its best impression of Niagara Falls outside the windshield, the bus driver didn't hear the ding when I pulled the "Stop Requested" cord, and drove right past the bus stop. I stood up and yelled for her to stop, but it took her a few hundred yards before she found a safe place to do so.  She apologized as I stepped out into the rain.

I made a mad dash across the traffic and back to the Sonic and waited for my wife to pick me up from there.

For the few minutes I waited, I was left wondering about the fate of my fellow passengers.  Most of them likely don't have someone available to give them a lift. Such is the life of the have-to bus rider.