Wrong-way ride through the monsoon

It's Sunday evening. We just had a delicious meal at a Plan d'Eau in Bresse and we have the clever idea to complete the bypass of Lyon in the late hours of the weekend.
This is clever because we won't get caught in the Monday morning rush hour and we hope that it's generally less crowded on the infamous Lyon ring road.

So we say goodbye to a small artificial lake, which can often be found in French municipalities and whose purpose escapes me. Swimming is always strictly forbidden, dogs must be kept on a leash, and apart from very short walks, the only thing you can do in these "recreational areas" is have a picnic. If someone can enlighten me about this, please let me know.

The first 50km through Bresse are relaxed. Cute little houses in small villages line up next to each other and the famous chickens are happily gathered in beauty farms.

After Louhans, we get on the highway and as soon as we do, it starts pouring once again, raining cats and dogs, like the cow that pees, and the sky is falling on our heads. By now it's pitch black despite the time change, the windshield wipers are working at full speed, but the visibility is getting worse and worse. The asphalt gleams and reflects the lights of the vehicles on the three-lane highway in wild reflections. Lane markings are no longer discernible. Raging whitewater gushes in the tracks.

If we were to brake now, the caravan would inevitably skid on the mirror-smooth road, causing our entire vehicle to spin and who knows what else. And this despite Zappa cruising along the track at a patient 50km/h.

Just as I desperately try not to think about such a scenario, Zappa hits the brakes! And while I'm still wondering about it and trying not to panic, our projectile comes to a stop on the right lane of the highway a few kilometers before Lyon. In the pitch black darkness, I can now also see the problem through the pouring spray. Two meters in front of us lies an even darker car, almost invisible in the middle of the road, sideways against the guardrail. In our headlights, we can see the deployed airbags, but not whether there are still people in the car.

As experienced first responders, we know that our own safety is the top priority. And that our own vehicle must be parked BEHIND the accident to prevent following drivers from crashing into us. However, that is currently the big problem! The traffic rushes past us unimpeded in the middle lane, poor visibility and monsoon rain prevent us from changing lanes to the left with our slow and extra-long vehicle. Hoping that the hazard warning lights indicate danger, we have no choice but to wait.

Finally, a gap opens up and dripping with sweat from fear, I am extremely relieved that no truck has taken us from behind. Slightly surprised that we are the only ones stopping because of an accident, I spend some time looking for my socks, which I want to stuff my pant legs with so they don't get soaking wet in the whitewater gutter right away. When I finally find them and get out of the car, I stand ankle-deep in water with my slippers on and my socks immediately soaked through.

Zappa is already at the accident vehicle, but there is no one inside. Monsieur Crash has just returned from the nearby rest area, where he apparently made an emergency call, as we can already see the flashing blue lights not far away.

Monsieur is unharmed. He is still catching his breath, he's responsive, and doesn't need any further help. So we sit in the Kangoo, completely soaked down to our underwear, and continue our journey. The shock still lingers in my limbs and the weather does not make driving any easier. It keeps pouring like buckets, Lyon is sinking in floods, tight curves must be taken with extreme caution to keep the Chateau behind us on track. It keeps pouring and pouring and pouring.

After four hours of driving for a distance of 180km, we finally leave the big city behind and find a sleeping spot in a small nature reserve on the banks of the Rhone. With a view of an extensive industrial area brightly illuminated by thousands of headlights, with a refinery, chemical plant, Linde gas distribution, and a howling wrecker yard where Monsieur Crash's car will soon disappear.Wonderfully romantic!No matter, we arrived here unharmed. But none of us doubted that.