The morning announcements came around 8:45 a.m. 

Santa Rosa Elementary School is having barbecue sandwiches for lunch today, an educator cheerily announced over the loudspeaker. The voice echoed across a flooded Rancho El Dorado Parkway. 

Class was in session, but dozens of kids weren’t there yet. One of the main roads was made impassable this morning.  

Maricopa Police Department issued its closure notice early this morning. Before 4 a.m., police announced that both of Rancho El Dorado’s “low-water wash crossings … were closed due to flooding.” 

The main access point to the school was blocked by a yellow barricade; the bold black read “ROAD CLOSED.” It blocked the road just a few yards from the muddy water rushing over the asphalt. The closures turned Rancho El Dorado into a half-trapped neighborhood. 

With both washes barricaded, traffic was backed up along Smith-Enke Road as drivers scrambled for a way around. By 8:30, long lines of frustrated drivers were trying to get around the road closures.   

You’d be forgiven to wonder where this water came from — because it didn’t rain here. 

The city’s three washes can still swell with floodwaters fed by storms hundreds of miles away. The washes are part of the Santa Cruz watershed, a system that stretches into Mexico, where Hurricane Lorena has been churning up the western coast in recent days, its outer bands unleashing torrents of rain over the mountains of neighboring Baja California.  

What falls there doesn’t stay there. Rain racing off barren slopes funnels into the watershed, surging north toward Arizona. With little vegetation to slow it and desert soil too hard and compact to absorb it, the water quickly fills channels that are usually dry. Gravity does the rest. Runoff goes downhill, overwhelming infrastructure in Mexico before eventually spilling into Maricopa’s low-lying terrain.  

That’s why roads and washes in the city can flood suddenly, catching residents off guard when there’s little or no rainfall. 

David Iversen stumbles upon an Oregon Trail scenario 

I only needed a few photos, a quick historic record. I wasn’t alone. Other drivers had pulled over too, curiosity pulling them as much as necessity.  

Someone walked up to the barrier next to me. 
 
“How deep do you think it is?” the voice asked.  

“It’s hard to say,” I answered, raising my camera, making small talk.  

“Are you going to try to cross it?” they responded.  

My attention broke. Cross the flooded road? I leaned against the warm, yellow steel gate. “No, I don’t think so.” 

This driver studied the water like a gambler considering the odds.  

“I can make it,” he said confidently, eyes locked on the swollen Santa Rosa Wash spilling over its banks. “I gotta get home. How am I supposed to get around this?”  

But the police were clear: Turn around, don’t drown. They’d seen too many vehicles swept into ditches, too many rescues.  

City officials stress the warnings aren’t about citations or punishments. They’re about survival. Public safety spokesperson Monica Williams told InMaricopa drivers can underestimate the danger, assuming clearance alone will get them through. Floodwaters, though, can hide debris, conceal gouged pavement or move with enough force to move a vehicle — even a lifted truck — off the road. Getting stuck doesn’t just cost drivers in tow fees, it can take resources away from real emergencies. 

“So, to keep everyone safe, first responders and residents, don’t drive into flood waters. Signage is a good indication to choose an alternate route,” said Williams.  

The man noticed my camera.  

“You going to take my picture if I try it?” he asked, weighing the publicity of the illegal stunt.  

“You’re [expletive] right I am,” I said, checking my shutter speed.  

“Just don’t get my license plate, okay?”  

He climbed back into his truck and edged closer to the barrier. For a moment, it looked like he’d go for it: Mount the curb, drive past the sign and challenge the flood. But another driver rolled up, pointing toward a dry street that wound away from the wash. A guardian angel, maybe.  

The truck paused, then whipped a U-turn. The moment dissolved into an anticlimax. Weaker photos. But a safer ending.  

Maybe, two hours later, that driver was home and dry. Maybe that’s the better story anyway.