twister, sister

I’ve spent most of my life in the Midwest. Part of living here are tornados. Threat or real, news stations and now updates from weather apps keep us in touch with weather. We can see ‘the hook’ in clouds on radar which are known to spurn vicious, cow swirling, house smashing freight trains of destruction. Therefore, it is not unusual to have a tornado dream here and there. Enter a cyclone dream, stage left. Thank you Trazodone.

I was riding my bike along with dear daughter. We were on a busy street here locally which has a big bridge crossing a busy highway. Both roads were full of cars moving towards their destination. It fat drops of water sputtered every once in a while, cooling on my skin. I looked up at the sky. The dark gray clouds boiled like a witch’s cauldron. It would rain soon and we were headed into the storm.

My daughter and I made it to the top of the hill and turned into a gas station. My tire was low and needed air. And wouldn’t you know, there was a LINE for air. Trying not to panic, we waited our turn. Another glance at the sky was more alarming. The clouds were producing spinning masses of multiple tornadoes. Five or six of twisters were hanging off a gigantic funnel cloud. There were three of those. Further in the distance, F5’s were on the ground, sashaying back and forth in a dance of flying wood and metal. We had to get away.

Bike tire filled, we headed back from the direction we came away from the chaos. A quick look back, more tornadoes on the ground and gaining on us. We turned into a neighborhood of old houses and restaurants looking for shelter. Racing down a street, I saw my friend Bob and his girl sitting at a bar drinking. We stopped and went in.

I explained there were lots of tornadoes coming. Bob looked out and said, “Nah, they won’t hit us.” The noise got louder. I longed to run to basement of the establishment, but didn’t. They all believed Bob. Now the racket was deafening. We all looked up at once as Obsidian tornado, sparkling purple-black ran right through the middle of it across the street. Surprisingly, the outer mobile homes, hanging plant and flowers swinging, were unscathed. The residents unconcerned, still grilling and lounging on patio furniture. Dogs continued to shit in the yard.

Bob turned to me, “See, didn’t hit us,” as one obliterated the restaurant and I woke up.

A good friend Kurt shared The Rules of biking written by ‘The Keepers’. Although I don’t agree with the whole list, I do agree with most. Rule Number 5 is used as challenge between our friends if we have a ride planned and the weather is iffy. Rule number 5 states, “Harden the fuck up,” meaning rain, snow or heat, get on the damn bike and ride it. No excuses. The rule links to a Ronnie Johns video of Harden the Fuck up. Guess we should have just hardened the fuck up and kicked up the speed.

Spinning wheels,

Zooey