Amongst the many reasons why I find the whole climate change religion to be so totally bogus is the fact that the same people who can’t predict what the weather is going to do in the next 4 hours expect us to believe that they know what the planet is going to do in the next 100 years. Nowhere has this been better illustrated to me than in the events of the last 36 hours.
For the last few days of last week we were deluged (yes, the use of the term is intentional) with predictions about a once-in-a-century rain event that was going to wreak havoc on the whole of the east coast of Australia. Emergency services were put on stand-by right along the eastern seaboard and inland and towns and areas along the projected route of the event were on high alert, waiting for and expecting the worst.
As usual, the actuality bore little relation to the predictions. Parts of South Australia and Victoria did experience higher-than-average rainfall; low-lying areas in some towns and cities did experience localised flooding as the low swept in from the west heading out to sea. But the sky didn’t fall in, and, all in all, the “event” was a bit of a damp squib (and, yes, that is also intentional).
Here on the south coast, the day dawned bright and clear and, as the day wore on, the predicted rain failed to materialise with high cloud cover and the various radar predictions showing that the clouds, containing SOME rain, were heading south of us and heading further south east.
So, come lunch time and it looked like I’d be absolutely fine to go for a short ride. After ducking up the street and buying a new headlamp bulb (didn’t I replace them both not that long ago?) I headed out with the intention of doing a run to the Pie Shop and, perhaps The Lap if conditions allowed it.
Along the straight near the bottom of the Pass I noted a couple of cars heading towards me with their wipers on intermittent but I wasn’t that worried because it’s often a bit showery on the tops. However, that didn’t prepare me for what happened next. As I crested the next rise I literally ran into a waterfall. The sky blackened almost instantly and I was suddenly riding through a howling gale. Where did THAT come from? My first thought was to pull over and find a place to turn around but I was in a gaggle of traffic whose drivers had all been taken completely by surprise and it took me about a kilometre more before I could safely pull over at the foot of the Pass, carefully pull a U turn and head for home.
By this stage all thoughts of trying to stay dry or getting home without getting too wet were already gone. I was soaked through in the first 30 seconds. Within the space of what must have been less than a minute the temperature dropped from 31 degrees to just 18 degrees and the rain that was suddenly being whipped across the road by the wind was also bringing with it all manner of debris. Visibility dropped to minimal but I dared not open my visor lest my glasses be covered with rain and I ended up being functionally blind.
By the time I reached the highway at Yallah the wind had increased in intensity and I pulled over under the Hayward’s Bay overpass to take some shelter. Another sodden biker joined me and we sat there watching the world disappear into a grey blur. After a few minutes the wind and the rain started to ease so I eased back into the traffic flow and slowly negotiated the last 8kms or so to home.
By the time I was pulling into my street, the rain had eased right off but the wind was continuing. I was utterly soaked and it was a relief to pull into the garage and know that I was home safely. Riding in the rain was not like many times that I have done so where the wind chill makes it even more unpleasant. I wasn’t cold, just uncomfortable.
Needless to say, today dawned bright and sunny and it’s been 28 degrees today. All of my wet gear has been on the line all day and it’s all dry, even my boots which were always going to take the longest time.
Last night one of our local photographers posted this awe-inspiring photo of the storm through which I had ridden. Thanks to Chilby Photography for this image. The photographer noted when publishing it that the storm front took about 30 seconds to go from where it is depicted here to the lighthouse on Wollongong Harbour, a distance of several kilomettes. Truly scary.
Into each life some rain must fall…yes, but that WAS ridiculous.