Many years ago, while on an epic trip across the USA with my wife and our youngest son, who was 13 at the time, experienced an unforgettable event.

We knew that our son, who was already at the rebellious stage, would not want to travel with us much longer. So we planned a 43-day trip, retracing some of our honeymoon spots, and visiting some friends and family along the way. We went south to New Orleans, then up to Arkansas, on to Texas, Arizona, Nevada, California, and into the great Rocky Mountains, before heading back home. It was a wonderful trip, chocked full of lively stories, but one, that we all agree on, stood out vividly.

Kansas. Long, hot, and boring. There’s not much to see, or many cities that we wanted to stop at for the night. We are headed home on the last few legs of the trip. My wife had researched our trip in great detail before we left out, and the overnight spot she chose for us to camp out at while crossing Kansas was the Wilson State Park.

Besides the three bikes on our Dodge Caravan’s roof, we packed along a tent, which we used at various campgrounds along the way. We arrived at Lake Wilson a few hours before dusk, and set up our tent on the concrete pad that was available to campers. On the way in a Ranger told us to be watchful about storms. Recently the storms had been violent and the campground was prone to flooding in heavy rains.

Lake Wilson State Park was new at the time. There was little vegetation or any other significant landmarks. Just a lot of new asphalt roads. There wasn’t much road signage, and there were no street lamps, so when the sun set, it was dark. Really dark. Not a light for miles.

As I said, we set up our tent, and then fixed some food for our dinner. After dinner, now in complete darkness except for our lantern, we needed to kill a little time before going to bed. If you haven’t ever had the privilege to be in complete darkness, which is very rare these days, you haven’t seen the incredible sky at night. Most of us city dwellers think there are maybe a few prominent stars out. But actually the night sky is completely covered with millions of twinkling lights – stars, planets, and very frequent shooting stars. It is a glorious sight. If you ever get a chance to see this you’re in for a treat.

My wife and I were completely enthralled by this new sky. Our son, not so much. He wanted to play Rook – a card game we carried with us. So an argument ensued. Rook, stars, Rook, stars, Rook… And so it went. Finally he gave up and crawled into the tent. We watched the heavens for a long time, the skies were perfectly clear. Finally we joined our son in the tent and fell asleep on the cold hard slab.

Around midnight my son woke me. He quietly beckoned for me to me to look outside. We both got up and stared out to the west, towards the Rocky Mountains far away. And in the far distance there was what looked like a little light show. We soon realized that it was lightening. And lots of it. We watched for a while enjoying the sight, and then started considering the warning we had received on entry to the campground. Beware of storms. And this one was coming straight at us—and fast. The winds started to pick up. And that’s when I realized that this was no ordinary storm. I woke my wife and told her about oncoming storm. She quickly agreed that we had better pack up and leave. We sprang into action. We dismantled the tent in record time, hurriedly threw everything else into the back of the van, and got into the car just as the brunt of the storm hit us. Within minutes we were in the middle of a thunderstorm the likes of which I’ve never seen. We turned the car around and headed out onto the road. By now it was almost impossible to see, even with the wipers at full speed. I drove as carefully as possible, trying to remember all the twists and turns back to the camp entrance. The best we could do was 2 or 3 miles per hour, but we finally found the entrance and headed towards the Interstate.

The main highway was only marginally better than the campground, but we found the Interstate and headed toward our next destination, St. Louis. The rain was letting up some now. We pulled into a truck stop and got a little shut-eye. Besides being awakened at an ungodly hour, the drive had stressed us all.

We arrived at St. Louis a daybreak only to find that much of the city was flooded. The Mississippi River crested at the highest level on record – 49.58 feet. the flood stage is 30 feet. ¹

We arrived at the DoubleTree hotel and got an early checkin. Never was a nice clean room and a delicious chocolate chip cookie more welcome.

And that’s the story. We got caught right in the middle of it. That was the last leg of our 43-day trip. After a good night’s sleep we headed home safe and very fortunately sound.

1. The Great Flood of 1993 was one of the most devastating and prolonged floods in U.S. history, and St. Louis was at the very heart of it. Here are the key points about what happened there:
   Timing: The flooding lasted from April to October 1993, with the worst impact in July and August.
   Causes: Exceptionally heavy rainfall across the upper Midwest saturated the soil and swelled rivers. The Missouri and Mississippi rivers, along with many tributaries, carried record-breaking amounts of water.
   St. Louis Impact:
   On August 1, 1993, the Mississippi River at St. Louis crested at 49.58 feet—the highest ever recorded there (flood stage is 30 feet).
   The confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers just north of St. Louis made the city especially vulnerable.
   Thousands of residents in the metro area were evacuated.
   More than 1,000 levees failed across the Midwest; some near St. Louis were overtopped or gave way.
   Damage:
   Widespread destruction of homes, farms, and businesses in the floodplain.
   River traffic was halted for nearly two months, disrupting commerce.
   Bridges were closed; for a time, only the Jefferson Barracks Bridge remained open across the Mississippi in the St. Louis area.
   National media covered dramatic moments, like sandbagging efforts in towns north and south of St. Louis.
   Legacy:
   Roughly 50 people died across the Midwest, and damages topped $15–20 billion.
   In St. Louis, the flood reshaped floodplain management policies and reinforced debates over whether levees protect or worsen flooding.
   The 1993 crest record at St. Louis stood until 2019, when another flood came close.
   ~Per ChatGPT ↩