I have an Uncle Bill. He's a nice man. He's married to my Aunt Juanice. He wouldn't hurt a fly.
Tropical Storm Bill bared no resemblance to my uncle. Not only would he hurt a fly, but he would waterboard it, rip off it's wings, and stick out his tongue at the poor thing as he crushed it under his bare feet.
And why I decided to play around with the beast is beyond me.
Dive through the middle of Bill's guts, enjoy the calm between the waves, and put 400 more miles on my odometer before supper in my own home.
I guess that's exactly what I did.
And got really wet.
The joy of crossing the Texas state line knowing I'd soon be home, and I quote my Facebook quote at the time: "One more hour and I'll be taking a shower," made up for the 340 miles of misery I had just endured.
But a lot can happen in 60 miles during a tropical storm.
I got to Texarkana, filled up my tank, looked south and saw a lot more nastiness, but I didn't care because I was heading west where the sun was shining and the day was more gorgeous than I could ever imagine.
Fifty-nine miles later I was completely dried out and in great spirits as I approached the Titus County line, my home county.
But just on the other side of the line was a massive raincloud that brought me to a complete stop, blinded me so that I couldn't see five feet in front of me, leaving me to sit on the shoulder of I-30 cringing as massive semis passed by me with only inches to spare, spraying water on me to add insult to misery.
I thought to myself, "Holy cow, just an hour ago I was in the dry. And now here I sit. Taking my shower."
Me and my big mouth.
I did eventually make it home. I had some soup and coffee. A HOT shower. Got everything high and dry. Had my motorcycle in the shop for an oil change. And now here I sit, putting down these thoughts, knowing that tomorrow I'm off to Colorado and all points west.
The journey continues.
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