The Kid, the Lightning, and me

["Howard Bramhall" <hwb67@msn.com>]

Man, I'm getting so sick and tired of these lightning storms.  Every afternoon or night this week.  God loves to give Florida a good pounding this time of year.  BOOOOM, take that for electing Bozo the Clown President.  CRACKLE, SIZZLE, ZAP; that's for letting those older folks to continue driving on the highways when you know they're no longer safe to perform such a task.  KAKAKABOOOOOOMMMMM, that's for not having enough sense to get off the golf course when I gave you plenty of warning.  One less Floridian golfer who won't be making it upstairs to my house; his wife won't miss him much, she never did see him anyway since he was either working or playing in the sand (traps).

 

I don't like riding in storms.  And I know I shouldn't let Jennifer accompany me when they're a brewing, like they were today.  But the air was cool, a nice breeze, and, hey, I'm the weather guy.  I understand such things and know which way to travel to avoid them.  Yea, right, Howard, sure you do.

 

So we saddle up.  Jennifer and I felt we needed to train more.  Our last endurance ride turned out to be a total flop.  I knew we must have done something wrong for such a thing to happen.  I blame it on the summer heat down here; too hot to train properly and those storms.  Boom, Kabaaam, Death is outside wanting to play every afternoon.

 

We reserved three spots for the Biltmore this year; I'm so excited about that.  Don't know how, I'm surprised they didn't catch their mistake letting this Florida Gator slip into such a classy joint, with his kid and wife and that silly Wal-Mart tent they all sleep in.  But our reservation is confirmed and there's no way I'm gonna let them take it back now.  We're a coming to Biltmore, home of Hannibal Lecter; no wait, the deformed guy who caught Hannibal lives there, my mistake.  Hannibal was just a house guest. I wonder who lives there now? If I remember correctly, those wild pigs from Sicily ate the previous owner.  Yuck!   I'll just have to knock on the door when I get there and find out.  Knock, knock, "Hello, Howard's calling."  Nobody ever answers the door when I give out my name.

 

So off Jen and I go.  We must train, through sleet, snow (yea, that will be the day down here), and rain we travel, never to be denied our completed rounds, no matter what the weather.  God looks down at me and chuckles at such a silly notion.  I look up to the sky, Cumulous Nimbus to the west and north, so we head south.  Who's afraid of that lightning?  Not me, not me.  I'm not so sure about Jen. The two horses are oblivious to the danger; they just want to travel.

 

The air is humid, as usual, but the temperature is not so bad.  Probably low 80,s with a slight breeze.  And no sun poking out to fry your skin; the CB's blackening the sky have seen to that.  Now, if I could just figure out which way those darn things are moving.  I don't think they are going in any particular direction right now; just seem to be growing and spreading out.  Great.  We continue heading south (the only direction to go, haha).

 

I'm riding Moonlight Princess, my registered Paint.  She's 4 and 1/2 years old, and I love her dearly.  She has the coolest extended trot you ever did see. BOING, BOING, she travels, like Bugs Bunny on a pogo stick.  I should have named her Pink Lady, cause when she sweats up, her pink skin comes thru the white coat (she's predominately white), and it's puts out a glow that can be used as a headlight after sunset.  What a special horse she is.  And off we go, following Rebel, my politically incorrect named Arabian.  Heck, I'm just getting started naming my horses.  My next horse will be an Arab and I plan on nicknaming him Mohammed, Moe, for short. "Hey, Moe." Those Sheiks will put a fatwa out on me yet.

 

Rebel's in the lead; my daughter, Jennifer, loves this position.  Rebel's not that crazy about it, but he wants to move out and accepts her decision.  Princess follows so closely that she occasionally rubs her face, to remove the deer flies or scratch that itch, on Rebel's butt, without missing a step.  Rebel allows this to happen.  We zoom down the trail.  "KABOOM," says God.  That one came from the Northwest.  "Pick up the pace, Jen," I yell to my daughter who is more than willing to do this.  Canter south we go, running from God's anger.

 

We slow down to a trot, but I find myself constantly looking to the North.  That's where the storms are, and they keep on growing.  Bigger and bigger, darker and darker.  Like that big ugly kind of cloud, that transforms into a face like you see in Ghostbusters, the first one.  Nasty stuff, and if the darn cloud starts talking to me I'm going to pass out in my saddle.  I find I wish we would have went riding early in the morning, the only time of day that's safe from God's wrath this time of year.  Weather certified or not, I find I don't like the way things are looking. Sometimes, there's just no room to run.

 

A super bolt, cloud to ground, hits Northeast of our position.  I start counting and don't even get to three before we hear the horrendous thunder accompanying that last strike. The ground shakes from the power.  Great, not even a mile away.  Go, Jen, go.  Canter bordering on a flat out gallop.  I find myself thinking, "God, if you gotta take someone, let it be me.  I've led a good enough life, a bit outrageous, and I do hope you give me a chance to explain some of my decisions; just don't take the kid or the horses, please."  "BAAAAABOOOOOOM," responds God.  That one was so close Princess' mane stands straight up in the air.  OK, I'm really freaked out now. 

 

We continue south, probably 7 or 8 miles from home.  There's no way to go back in that direction right now.  The sky is totally black and constant lightning is hitting in the area where my house is.  My dog, a cinnamon chow named Taffy, must be panicking out in our back yard.  She's terrified of thunder and lightning, and has clawed at our front door several times during a storm when we forgot to let her in.  With this storm, I'll be lucky if I even have a front door left when we get home.  If we get home.

 

Now it starts to pour.  Guess who forgot to bring a poncho? Well, at least it's no longer hot out.  We slow down to a trot, then a walk, since our visibility just dropped to zero.  I feel like I'm riding with an imaginary target on my back now that I'm all wet, riding a soaked horse who is wearing metal shoes moving along through puddles which suddenly appear on the trail.  Geeez, why don't I just ride with a kite up in the air and a metal key attached?  KABBOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!

 

Jen is unusually quiet.  I think she's almost as afraid of this stuff and I am.  Can't wait to tell the wife about this one; she'll just be thrilled that I took our youngest kid along though a storm system that looks to be a Level 6.  Funny thing is I'm supposed to go to work at the weather station tonite at 11PM.  I look at my watch and it's after 7, the sun is just starting to set.  I might be late for the ole midshift tonight; I don't think anyone's done that before.  And deep down, inside my gut, I am truly scared.