Interlude (a wet one)…

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…

Daniel Meyer

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