Sky as black as a back woods pool. Bullets of water racing sideways, projected by atrocious winds. Vehicles spinning out of control with terrified occupants screaming, waiting for impact with the rain soaked ditch. Worse was the intense lightening, striking haphazardly on all sides, no place safe to escape to. It was blindingly bright, bolts of light would momentarily alter my sight and their flashing were only seconds between hits. The fields around me looking like a war zone as soil was thrown up in the atmosphere with each strike. No bridges to hide under, no stores to run into. The drive across Indiana was proving to be intense. The start of a funnel cloud off in the distance. Heart racing, engine humming. The funnel cloud dissipates back into the blackness. All other traffic had stopped: Interstate 80 was desolate, except for me, as I maintained 50mph since I saw no choice. The wind would push me from lane to lane, the rain seeping in, and the constant lightening my motivation to keep on trucking. It was the half way point of my trip and I needed to make Wyoming in two days, which would normally be an easy ride on my BMW R100 motorcycle. Little did I realize then, that as terrifying as the drive was, it was nothing compared to later events.

Jim had decided to fly out to Wyoming, while I saw the chance for another motorcycle adventure. Together we would climb in the mountainous northwestern Wyoming. The plan was for me to leave early and find suitable lodging. It was early September and the trip was proving to be more exciting than I anticipated. After a half hour of the intense storm, daylight lay ahead. When at last I found a filling station a young couple hustled out of their car and approached me. “Are you the guy we saw at McDonalds earlier?” “Yes” “How the hell did you drive through that storm?” “Didn’t seem like I had much of a choice” “Jesus H. Christ, that storm was intense!” “Well, I can’t argue with that” They told me they had been holed up in their car for close to an hour, as the store was packed with terrified travelers. It was definitely the most severe thunderstorm I had ever seen. Bike ran great though.

It is about two thousand five hundred long miles from my home in North Conway, New Hampshire to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The trip took three and a-half days of driving. When I arrived in the mountain town I was dirty and tired and took the first room that was available. With a full nights sleep I was ready to explore the wondrous area and I had two days before Jim showed up. Upon his arrival at the small airport, he rented a car for himself, as there wasn’t much spare room on the bike. We got supplies and headed off to our dark room and planned our hike up Buck Mountain for the following day.