I was going to say that I have never been directly involved in an event like that before, but that is not quite true - as a little girl I experienced the 1974 Brisbane floods. I remember that my mother and I were staying in a house in Highgate Hill where we had a view of the city. The suburbs were stretched out beneath us and then one morning they were gone – in their place a new inland sea. I remember standing in the rain under an umbrella and feeling the weight of the water through the handle, hearing the volume-up surround-sound noise. I remember going through some of the streets after the waters had subsided and seeing silty, muddy residue smeared over every building, piled in stinking, filthy heaps.
On Friday May 1 I finished work early, at 3pm. The rain was pretty heavy. My youngest daughter, who had my car, picked me up and we drove to a café near the airport to meet with some of her friends, one of whom had just flown into Brisbane. On our way there the rain was extreme but we had no trouble, and the traffic was fine. The café was about to close, so after our coffees we arranged to continue our catch-up at my place, and off we went in two cars. At the end of the road – gridlock. After 20 more minutes we had moved just a few metres. We were on a road that joined Sandgate Road, but the traffic lights were changing so quickly that only one car would get through at a time, and Sandgate Road was gridlocked also, so sometimes not even one car got through. As we inched along we saw that there was a road up ahead where cars were joining the queue ahead of us. Just to add to the mix, inexplicably neither the heater nor the air-con in my car were working, so we had a fogged up windscreen, and it was out of the question to wind the windows down because it was as if 20 firemen with their hoses on at full blast were standing around the line of cars. I watched in disbelief as I peered out the side window and saw a whole waterfall pouring down someone’s steps. Suddenly things seemed a bit grim. My daughter happened to be driving, and I was fully employed in wiping the windscreen with my discarded work shirt.
We broke out of that line, which hadn’t moved for quite a long time, and we tried to find another way to join Sandgate Road. After a few attempts we succeeded – the rain had not eased up, our windscreen was still fogged, and we had travelled less than a kilometre in about an hour.
As the traffic crawled along Sandgate Road, I saw the tunnel road to Stafford, and that it was practically empty. I usually go to almost any length to avoid toll roads, but today seemed like a good day to make an exception. We turned off and drove through the tunnel, revelling in getting some distance travelled, delighting in having a cessation from the rain. There were very few vehicles using it at that point. We wound down the windows to dry out the windscreen - and the best part was that we were going to be so much closer to home when we came out the other side.
Out we came, to four lanes of gridlock, the rain heavier, if that were possible, and now it was almost dark, which made visibility so much worse. And then my car cut out. No power, no steering. We stopped right where we were with no chance to get off the road. Repeated and frantic attempts to start the car resulted in just a funny clicking sound. We were completely stuck, blocking one of the lanes. We just had to hang on and hope very much that no-one would rear-end us. The car was complexly fogged up inside and we could barely see anything, it was like being alone in a warzone with destruction and mayhem all around us. We were on a slight hill, making it out of the question for the two of us to get the car off the road.
I had called RACQ and they were on their way, but it was going to be some time. We were on their priority list, but so were scores of others. Suddenly a sharp rap on the window. A soaked woman, an ambulance driver, saying, get off the road!!! So out jumped my daughter to help – I was supposed to be the one to steer my car – I thought I was doing a grand job but apparently I hadn’t taken my foot off the brake or even the hand brake off, and then when she yelled at me to do so, I took both off and started rolling helplessly backwards. I wasn’t really aware of any of this – I suppose I was in shock. The ambulance driver got my daughter to take the wheel and get me to push with her – we had the job done in seconds. Now at least we were off the road – it made us feel a bit safer. We were both soaked to the core and shivering violently. Conversation was minimal as we turned deep into ourselves to exist. I kept saying things like – we should have gone straight home. And at one point I really surpassed myself by saying to my daughter that she shouldn’t have chosen a café so far away – what was she thinking? Not my finest moment.
Suddenly, a tow truck in front of us. A knight. It wasn’t the RACQ but the Airport link truck, who was there to take us to a safe place – a service station not too far up the road. Out we got again in the waterfall to get into his truck while he put my car on the back. I rang RACQ to tell them and they decided to now send a roadside vehicle instead of a tow truck - - and we were back to the end of the queue. But things were looking up – a service station means a bathroom – fullest bladder ever after half a day at work and two drinks at the café!
We were still soaked through, but at least we were off the main road and out of immediate danger. Damage to my car – unknown. Rain still bucketing. Car wet inside. I remembered that I had bought a beautiful, fresh loaf of bread that day, and that it was in the car - and, treasure of treasures, I had some chocolate!!. We cracked open the bread and devoured several slices each. The chocolate was wet and clammy - but I didn't care. Bliss! Suddenly the atmosphere turned from grim to relief – we laughed and joked and played silly word games where we made long absurd sentences out of each consecutive letter of the alphabet. We had no idea when we would get home and whether it would be in my car. We were both deeply traumatized and chilled to the core. It seemed as far away as the moon, but I decided to visualise warm dry pyjamas and a hot shower, and my daughter chipped in that it would be a bath for her.
After some more hours, when the rain had all but stopped and the traffic going past us on Stafford Road had ebbed to just a few cars here and there, the RACQ man arrived in a roadside assistance van. He pronounced my car unsafe to drive and suggested that we cab it home and sort out a tow truck in the morning – advice that we fell in with very readily. We were home in half an hour and the dreams of showers and warm, dry clothes became a reality.
The next morning, I looked out of my window in disbelief; the sun was out with barely a cloud in sight! I had a few things to take care of: I rang my mechanic, who said that I could have my car towed to him and he very kindly lent me a car. I rang RACQ to arrange the tow. RACQ were so quick that they got to my car before me, but he agreed to hook my car up ready to put on his truck which was a grand gesture of trust on his part. It was all sorted in a jiffy. As I drove home in the borrowed car, I marvelled at the sight of business as usual on the roads and in the shops, and I marvelled at how resilient people are, how quickly the city was recovering from an event like that.
I arrived back at home to see my daughter sitting in the sun and smiling - a beautiful sight. We went out to breakfast and spent the day doing as little as possible – we both felt like we had been in a war zone – which I suppose we had. Neither of us felt able to make even the smallest decisions – the little things and the big things were forgotten as we focussed on just being - the sun on our skin, sharing smiles and thoughts, and sitting in silence to rebuild.
I would like to thank RACQ and the Airport link for their efficiency and kindness in what must have been a high-pressure time for them. They were courteous, effective, efficient and helpful. My mechanic too, Brett @ Brett’s Automotive, for being able and prompt as always.