What is it about riding with a midwest thunderstorm that makes you feel like you're flirting with the devil? There's something quite exhilarating about dancing with that dangerous energy force that sweeps the plains all summer. Ever the mistress, I listen to the music and move to the blacktop dance floor again.
Coming back from St. Louis yesterday, I chose to come home through the country and avoid all the construction along the highway north. As I rolled into southeastern Morgan County, the two storm cells I've been watching for the last half hour seem to be defying the normal summer weather movements of central Illinois. As I headed east on Route 104 to head for home, the closer cell seemed to be coming toward me, not me approaching it. By the time I arrived in Auburn, I was riding under the cloud cover and the sun disappeared from my back. The lightning was setting the boundaries of where I could play, but I had no interest in going farther north.
About three miles from home, I recognize the gray curtain that blankets the horizon from the left to right in the middle of the road and I'm heading right for it. After about a half mile of playing carwash, I find a side road, head a couple miles south and head for Divernon. Not a drop! I leave Divy, head a couple of miles east again and dive north toward home. I've gotten around the rinse cycle, but the sprayer is returning for another go-'round and I'm thankful for the garage door opener in the pouch on my bars.
It's probably poor etiquette to cheat the weather goddess and giggle as the garage door closes behind you to shelter you from the house-shaking thunderclaps and a downpour that would have gotten Noah's attention. It's that feeling that you trekked on to the bad side of town, went to the wrong places, mixed with the wrong people and escaped without getting your ass kicked...
...at least that's what I've heard.
Now go ride some more! July is almost over.
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