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I pulled onto the road and headed north. These were narrow, twisting two lane roads, winding through the forested mountains, dipping into valleys and climbing out again, often along cliff edge with deep plummeting free-fall drops. The idea was to stay on the leading edge of the storm, in that nervous scintillating tension and electric feeling, of gusty and circulating breeze just before the drops of rain. I passed a crew of road workers, their dark beards cut clean at the edges, watching frozen in my driven departure. I rode before the squall, through weather worn alpine forests, in and out of dark tunnels winding through overhanging trees. Streams tumbled off the steep sheer walls, coursing along stone culverts and under bridges.
It was cold, damp very foggy and I was freezing. I came to a sharp curve before I realized it and almost drove off the mountain. As I slid to a stop in the off road gravel it was a straight down drop and I couldn't see the bottom. That was my only close call. I remember that. What I was looking at when I slid to a stop was the tops of trees that were growing out of cliff side down below.
The storm was in full chase and I was fleeing the foray. The object was to stay in that electric, energized pre-storm pocket just before the rain. The high mountain air was cold. Now and then rain would catch me, pelting around me with big splashy drops in the gusty Wind. Then I would speed up. If I got too far ahead of the front, then I would slow down.
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