It is raining frequently these days in Singapore. Given the regularity, I have come to ignore the flash flood warnings that pop up on my mobile. The routine that usually works is to check the weather maps just before I head out to ride. The risk with this is twofold. First, the information is slightly old. With riding and rain, there is a five-eight minute delay in weather information. As current as the information is, the difference can be sun to rain, drizzle to deluge, wet and dry.
The map suggested two things – rain was threatening and possible, it would be dry on the way home from the office. Initially it was! As I headed west and north, the sun quickly turned disappeared and left me with nothing but dull skies and threatening clouds in the distance. Even as I disappeared into the tunnel before the exit, there was little to indicate that things were going to change.
As my exit to the tunnel came into view, it was as if I was at the doorway to a different world. There was no drizzle and the lingering light that had been with me seconds earlier had fled. I was left with impending darkness and big, no massive raindrops. I thought I could make it through relatively unscathed for the remaining short ride. I was wrong.
As I rode with water reaching every part of me, my mind repeated the psalmist’s plea; “Sea storms are up, God, sea storms wild and roaring, sea storms with thunderous breakers.” (Psalm 93.3) The rain was more than just rain; it was a deluge. The streets quickly flooded, overwhelmed by the quantity dropped by heaven. Within seconds, everything was wet. At this point there was little to no point of putting on raingear or stopping under shelter.
As I arrived minutes later, water poured from me. My walk was an exhibition of puddles. But the time the elevator arrived on my floor, every part of the floor was shining because of the wet glaze.
I could have been prepared. If only.
