For those of you not totally familiar with the weather of New Mexico in the last few months, it's been burning lately. And I don't mean it's just been really hot--it's been burning. Fires. Lots of them. The biggest was national news for a few days: Los Alamos burned. But there have been many, many fires over the last month and a half because it hasn't rained.

We were told that there was a chance for rain on Friday. Most of us looked up at the sky on Friday and went, "Maybe. I'll believe it when I feel it on my hot, dry skin." And it was with this skepticism that I looked at the rain clouds that appeared to be dumping a bit of moisture on the south side of the city when I got out of the gym on Friday. Where I was in the extreme Northeast corner, the sun was still shining. But somewhere near it was raining. That had to be good, right?

Halfway down Tramway (the North/South part of my daily commute) big blotches of rain drops began to fall. By the time I hit I-40, it was raining and I had my windows up, defroster on (to control fogging up the windshield). Almost immediately after getting on the Interstate, I wondered how long the deluge would last. It was pouring down, window wipers on double speed and I didn't dare go faster than 50 as I kept my eyes on the back lights of the semi a few hundred feet in front of me. By the time I hit Louisiana, my customary exit, it seemed as though everything was slowing down.

I could see the sun again, but just as I turned south once again, it began to get worse. The rain started to turn to crumbly ice pellets and as I looked at the road, it seemed as though it had been snowing for a while. Drifting had occurred with the ice fall and the rain/ice mixture was getting worse again.

By the time I was at Louisiana and Zuni (where I turned west again), I could barely see out of my windshield and there was a river instead of a street. A river that looked a bunch of flowing ice. After turning onto Zuni, I realized I had to find a different way--or a place to stop--before my car stalled out. The water was getting higher. I took a right turn and the river got bigger. Somehow I ended up driving down a street that had flooded its curbs and sidewalks and turned into a raging river. Through the fog in my windshield, I spotted a run-down strip mall, hoped there was no curb and guided my car into a parking spot. I let the engine run for a minute or two without tons of water running underneath it and then shut it down.

I wasn't sure where I was, except that I was pretty close to home but trapped on the bad side of rapids with whitecaps. And it was still raining.

Eventually, the rain slowed. I noticed one of the shop owners, an old man with a ragged beard, was standing outside his store watching the water. I got out of my car, walked over and began to talk to him. He was a carpenter. There was water about fifteen feet into the back of his shop and rain coming down through the vents with access to the roof. One of his large air compressors was getting drenched.

The couple who lived/worked next door came out and realized they weren't going to get their small compact car out for a while. They skipped down the sidewalk, climbed on a fence to stay out of the water and disappeared in the direction of San Pedro and Zuni. I was close to home, close to friends, but still stranded. There was still two feet or so of water running down the street I'd happened upon. I wasn't going anywhere.

The guys who worked in the auto repair shop across the street cheered anyone who tried to brave the river, laughing as they assured intrepid drivers that they could make it. And many thought about it. San Pedro between Zuni and Central was closed and many were looking for ways around it. A couple of guys (possibly drunk) tried to cross the running river on foot, got swept up for a few feet, fell in, cursed, got up, fell down again and then ended up on different sides of the road from each other. Cops on bikes tried to make sure no one tried anything foolish, but mostly they just kept people away from San Pedro. I asked about other streets in the area, if they were closed, and the cop looked at me and said, "This street right here is the worst one there is. Everything else is fine."

So I'd picked the worst street in the rainstorm to turn onto and hide out from the storm. Great. That was some pretty good luck--although the fact that my car didn't stall out was better luck.

I waited a bit longer, saw that the middle of street was becoming visible again and decided to make a run for it. Push straight across from the parking lot to an adjoining street and I'd be clear.

I started my car, revved it a bit to remind it how to growl and moved into position. Then I waited as five other cars wandered through the intersection, trying to go up the river instead of around it. And then it was clear. Splash, splash and out. I was free.

The rain began a series of unpredictability that spread through the weekend like a prankster virus. Every time I thought I had a plan, it changed abruptly at the last moment. Which was fine, sometimes you just have to roll with the river.

Matt Worley learned to roll with the river during the yearly monsoon season he encountered growing up in Eastern New Mexico.