It was about this time that we began to hit the wind.
Across the open, and at this time of year arid wheat fields, the wind was whipping something vicious. A constant 20 mph side wind, with gusts much, much higher than that. The Vision, packed as she was, became a sail. More precisely, a Mizzen topgallant staysail. How that for Navy talk? Hah!
A gust of wind would hit, and I would lean into the invisible force to keep ourselves upright and in our lane as much as possible, and then the gust would stop abruptly - while I was still leaning. Remember my 'drunk driver' trick from earlier? Yeah, a lot like that but without all the laughs and hilarity.
Across the open, and at this time of year arid wheat fields, the wind was whipping something vicious. A constant 20 mph side wind, with gusts much, much higher than that. The Vision, packed as she was, became a sail. More precisely, a Mizzen topgallant staysail. How that for Navy talk? Hah!
A gust of wind would hit, and I would lean into the invisible force to keep ourselves upright and in our lane as much as possible, and then the gust would stop abruptly - while I was still leaning. Remember my 'drunk driver' trick from earlier? Yeah, a lot like that but without all the laughs and hilarity.
As we rode along, we could see mini-tornadoes racing across the landscape - giant twisting, pulsing, swirling columns of dust. It was here that I thought to myself, "Self, it wouldn't be a good thing to hit one of those." And I was right. I managed to dodge quite a few, but one colossal gyrating mass of liberated earth broke over a small hill and before I knew what was happening we were engulfed by the monster. I was a tad busy praying once again, but your Mom was later able to describe what happened: She said that as the thing hit, the bike shuddered - hard, leaned WAY to the left, shuddered upright, then everything became still as we entered the eye. Then again the bike shuddered and growled, leaned precariously to the right, and finally broke free of the hellish dark swirl back into the bake-oven of an August day.
That is what your Mom says she remembers. Here is what I remember:
"Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit."
If I could have clicked the heels of my boots together chanting "There's no place like home." I would have. Unfortunately my eyes were full of grit and my mouth tasted like one of those mud pies you were so fond of baking for me as a child. Did you know that other Dads didn't actually eat those things?
"Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit."
If I could have clicked the heels of my boots together chanting "There's no place like home." I would have. Unfortunately my eyes were full of grit and my mouth tasted like one of those mud pies you were so fond of baking for me as a child. Did you know that other Dads didn't actually eat those things?
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