Day 110, Middlebury to Rochester, Indiana 37 Miles
"Interesting, I think there is one thing that has killed more dreams, have kept more people from accomplishing more goals than death itself, and that's a person's concern about what others think."
"This does not look good," I muttered into the intercom and just as I finished the sentence, we rode into rain pouring down-make that across, with forty miles per hour side winds.
"Maybe we should stop under a tree."
"Or we could find a barn or outbuilding and stop in there." The wind pushed the bike toward oncoming traffic, their lights starring in the water on my face shield. "But the next town is only three miles. Let's ride it out." We passed a truck, stopped because a branch had smacked his hood. At last, we entered the town and stopped under a gas station awning. No use going on. I asked the clerk where the nearest motel might be. "In Rochester. Ten miles West."
Another patron spoke of golf ball sized hail reported in South Bend. Told us to be safe out there. And one more said a 'big storm' was predicted. Be safe out there. Perfect.
You might think the golf ball sized hail stones scare me because they would beat us to death. Maybe they would, but I doubt it, particularly since we wear helmets. I worry more about riding through them, the bike sliding out of control over the ball bearings. That could wake you up screaming in the middle of the night.
We donned our rain gear that, by this time, would both keep the rain out and the wet in and headed for Rochester.
The rain abated a bit, providing a bonus that I could see. The lightning flashed and thunder rumbled however, and we counted down the time to shelter.
We rolled into town and found the Super 8, just like the clerk said. Checked in and the guy mentioned it was supposed to be a six hour storm. Really good time to lay low. 37 miles today. No problem. I'd rather do that than two hundred with golf ball sized hailstones.
Once again looking like the Beverly Hillbillies, we have hung every wet thing up in an attempt to dry them. Well, dawgies. Isn't that what Uncle Jed used to say?
Tomorrow's weather forecast predicts temps in the seventies with a chance of