More than halfway through today’s stage, I was starting to wonder what I would write about. It was uneventful, to say the least. Perhaps I could talk about the wonders of East Cape Girardeau?
I should know better than to tempt fate with such thoughts. “Too boring for you? Let me liven it up a bit, puny mortal!”
About 15 miles from home, the sky ahead started to look very ominous. The wind, which had been from the south when I was headed that way, swung around to the north to be against me going home. I started looking for likely places to get shelter if things got bad. Just as I got over the hill on county road 621, it started to rain, and shortly after to thunder. I was almost to Bernie Dirnberger’s house, and there on his driveway was an invitingly open garage door. I made a quick decision; too quick, as it turns out, and I hit the gravel drive and went down. I limped to the garage, pulled the bike in, and the heavens opened.
It was a small storm, and after about 15 minutes it had let up enough for me to get back on the road, slightly bloody, somewhat bowed, but unelectrocuted, which is what really counts.
Only 6 more stages. Next Sunday is the big finish.