Storm Chaser

Day 4, Part 2

My encounter with Amber behind me, I rolled north, toward Custer, Montana (without Amber on the back).  I turns out Amber was prophetic.  It wasn't long before I noticed the clouds beginning to gather and turn dark.  It looked like rain was on the way.  I came around the bend, and indeed a storm cell with water pouring down was off in the distance.  And I was heading right for it.  I pulled off the highway at a convenient spot and donned my rain gear.  Bikers all know that the principal that causes possession of an umbrella to ward off any chance of rain whatsoever also applies to motorcycle rain gear.  Only with much more dramatic effects.  Not only does donning a rain suit prevent rain, but it clears the skies completely, resulting in a blazing hot sun which then turns the rain suit into one of those rubber sweat suits that high school wrestlers use to lose 15 pounds in two hours.  Of course, this was the case for me, with the exception that the storm was still visible but quickly moving in an easterly direction.  I had paid good money for this rain suit, and since I had gone to the trouble of stopping and dressing up like the MIchelin Man, I reasoned that it damn well better rain on me.

I set off in search of the rain.  Fortunately, my route soon took me to the east, looking straight at the storm.  The rain resembled a huge gray curtain enveloping the entire horizon beyond, beckoning me.  I was excited.  Suddenly it occurred to me that I had become the worst thing imaginable (short of becoming a BMW owner).  I had become a Storm Chaser.  Storm Chasers, those nut jobs who roam Kansas and Oklahoma in July and August praying to get caught in a tornado, are the kids who never outgrew the thrill of the baking soda erupting volcano in grade school.  They are the douche bags who wear T-shirts that claim science is fun.  And here I was, one of them, determined to find that storm and its resulting rain.  But the storm was moving quickly.  Rain had been around me, it was obvious.  The road was wet, and the tires of the cars and trucks shot rooster tails of mist that just made riding that much more fun.  But this is not what I had bought my rain suit for.  I wanted rain - real rain.  I found myself on a two-lane highway, and ahead was traffic that had come to a stop.  

It looked like a crash from a distance, but as I approached I could see that a huge branch had fallen from a tree onto the roadway.  I soon realized that the tree had been hit by lightning from the storm.  It apparently hadn't been too long, because there was only a truck between me and the tree.  The storm was baiting me.  Several men were trying to lug the branch out of the way and one local had a chainsaw and was busy cutting it into small pieces, the section in my lane.  I silently urged them on.  Rain was ahead.  Soon it was clear enough that they waved the truck and me through.  I shot around the truck.  i could see lighning off in the distance.  The road got wetter.  But there was no rain.  The wind picked up.  The temperature dropped.  Still no rain.  Pretty soon the trees began to sway wildly.  White caps appeared on the distant lakes.  I fought for control of the bike.  It was storming all around me, but agonizingly there was no rain.  That's when the reserve fuel light came on.  I had been so focused on finding rain that I had completely lost track of my fuel situation.  And I was in Montana, where filling stations are about as common as Democrats.  The "miles remaining" gauge read 24.  I came upon a sign advising that the next town was 26 miles ahead.  I didn't care.  I could see the rain, I could smell the rain, but I couldn't feel any rain.  The fuel gauge wound down, 14, then 10, then simply "lo."  I had to made a choice.  Fuel up or find rain?  I decided to call off the chase.  The storm had eluded me.  The storm had won.  Tired, distraught, and disillusioned, I exited the freeway.  As one last taunt, I was rewarded with another rainbow, another double rainbow, in fact.  And it was not the first of this trip  I think I've seen more rainbows than states.  Again, though, I stopped for a picture.  But I remained unsatisfied.  Sleep will not come easy tonight.