In downtown Honey Grove late last night:
The state trooper pulled up in the street next to me and rolled down his window to yell.
I had run the bike a bit up a ramped sidewalk and partially under an awning to help shelter me from the storm. Shivering and soaked, I grimaced and huddled beside the bike and tried to make myself as small a target for the vicious hailstones as I could. They were getting bigger. That was the only reason for seeking shelter…I run *in* the rain, not *from* it…no matter how bad. The hail though…well, it pretty much sucks.
“WHAT!?” I replied in the same tone. Cop or no, I wasn’t in the mood for any bullshit tonight.
“Nobody rides in a storm like this!” He was still yelling…though now it was probably to be heard over the rumbling of the storm and flying water and ice.
“Except me.” I shouted back.
“What are you doing out here?”
I thought about that for a moment. Hell, I didn’t know. The last few hours were a blur. Storms and speed. Lightning and darkness. Hunting and hunted. I had no purpose except to challenge the storms…both the storms I was attempting to take momentary shelter from…and the storms in my soul…the ones I’ve never found a way to hide from.
It seemed they both were winning.
For lack of another answer I stated the obvious, “Riding!”
I gave as simple and honest answer as I was capable of at the moment.
“Horny! Wife’s out of town!”
Lightning hit close enough that the thunderclap stunned us for a moment.
After we could hear again he began rolling up his window as he pulled away yelling, “Well then. Carry on!”
A great ride…nobody died AND I can use the bike again…