FLCC> What the hail?

[John Dennis]

Yesterday about 4pm, Dr. Bill and I went out to get our cardio rates up a
bit. 

 

JD:  How far you wanna go today? 

 

DB: Oh, something less than a hundred miles. 

 

But some folks are incurable fretters when it comes to the weather.  The
weather was cool with a brisk breeze as we headed east along the north side
of the airport and then headed north on Sheldon Road. Suddenly, Dr. Bill,
who is known for his unexpected maneuvers, turns left onto Bone Plain Road. 

 

JD (not turning): Why are you turning?  We’re just gettin’ goin’.

 

DB: Look at those dark clouds building up in the west.  We could get really
wet. 

 

JD: I agree, they are magnificent.  But, that’s why we’re out here.  It’s
like a huge Dutch landscape painting, but without the sailboats skudding
about in the distance. This is Nantucket weather.  I love it. 

 

DB: OK, but can I borrow your jacket?  I’m cold. 

 

I pull my yellow shell from a rear pocket and DB puts it on.  We soon hit
Rte 34 and head west. The sky is huge and absolutely electric with darks and
lights and, actually, a lot more of the former. I feel energized and feel
like turning right onto Brown Road and pushing into some nether portion of
the NE quadrant. But Bill, ahead of me, goes straight. I can see he’s in
horse-going-back-to-the-barn mode and there is no stopping him. 

 

The skies are more than threatening.  As we turn south onto Scofield Road,
it begins to rain…the large drop kind of rain. The first lightning strike
shakes the stillness as we pass the west end of Bone Plain Road.  I eye the
next house for cover and see only an 18” overhang at the garage.  We are
both drenched by the time we turn right onto Asbury.  Still looking for
cover, we get buffeted by a sudden blast of westerly wind that felt like 45
mph hitting our 20.  Almost simultaneous with the blast of wind, the first
loud “ding” resounds from my helmet. Large half-inch diameter hail begins
falling in torrents. The reverberating pain on my bare arms feels like I’m
in a paintball nightmare. 

 

I see an open garage on the left and make a bee-line for it.  We gain the
cover of the garage just as a lightning strike hits nearby. The owner of the
house comes to the entrance door inside the garage and tells us her TV
reception has just been knocked out.  My rear strobe light pulses
alternating red and white lights into the darkened garage.  Bill and I move
about like herky-jerky drowned river rats on a nightclub dance floor.  I can
tell the woman is wondering whether she’s just been invaded by Martians.
Although she sounds sympathetic, we’ve obviously noticed the cases of beer
stacked along the garage wall and the inviting dry leather jacket lying on
the seat of a huge Harley motorcycle that dominates the garage.  We admire
the Harley while pretending to ignore the beer, the jacket and any other
wares she may be protecting.  

 

After five minutes of awkward chit-chat, a carpet of white hail covers the
ground outside.  The heavens have down-shifted to moderate rain. Worried
about my core temperature and the woman’s peace of mind, I insist on
continuing.  Dr. Bill jokingly suggests I ride home and then drive back to
pick him up but I know in his heart-of-hearts he is serious.  The woman,
however, does not offer beer or dry towels. We leave, Bill against his
better judgment. Going up the hill on Warren Road, the top of a plastic
garbage can has blown into the road.  Like a multi-use IED doing off, a
stream of rush-hour traffic is hitting it again and again. Blam, ka-blam,
blam.   Just blown down green tree leaves lie matted across the wet road
surface. By the time we pass Cherry Road the rain has stopped and shafts of
bright yellow late afternoon sunlight illuminate the sudden uplift of
hundreds of starlings swooping upward in one fluid movement to the heavens.
All is right with the world. Except, dang, we could have been in the nether
reaches of the NE quadrant by now! 

 

John

 


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