It was in the Carolinas. Can't say which one — too far back to remember. But I'll never forget the barn. And the rain. Oh, I knew it was coming. Saw the black, angry cloud trying to catch me. I also knew I could outrun clouds — none of them ever went fifty miles per hour. The road was straight and I could put the hammer down.
But I was wrong.
That cloud did go fifty miles per hour — faster — because it caught me just when the road decided to watch me dance around the bends and hop over vertical curves as the sudden deluge hit.
Nowhere to hide.
Ride faster. Maybe I could leave it behind. Tried that. No good.
There was no telling where the road edge was; couldn't see it through the thick curtain of rain. My goggles rims were thick enough to dam the rain right over the lenses, never mind they were fogged over like London in October. A face shield was the thing to have now, not goggles.
Water was finding its way into each and every crease and stitch in my supposedly waterproof jacket. Only the gauntlets kept it from running up the sleeves to tickle my armpits.
I didn't so much mind getting soaked, but gaining weight with all that water on my top hamper... Did I feel the center of gravity rising? Sure I did. Could no longer anticipate reverse leans out of the bends, even at the snail's pace needed in order to see them. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but I was sure it was setting. This was beginning to look like more than a single black cloud.
I had to stop.
Looking for a suitable spot. Another bend, another hill; on and on. Getting wetter. No overpasses. No shelter. Rivers were running down my back. On my chest was an ocean. Getting darker. Still looking.
I guess I could just stop, I thought, and stand there in the rain until it ended.
Then, out of the mist — salvation.
The apparition was a barn alongside the road. And its big door was wide open. Facing me!
Off the road I plunged. Across a muddy track with both feet hydroplaning on the sloppy ground. And then I was through the door and in.
Rain stopped. Suddenly. No, wait. The barn had a roof. It was still pouring. And I still couldn't see.
I silenced the engine and shook myself like a dog emerging from the river.
Almost dark. What to do? Nothing will dry before sunup. Job one should be to dry out. No chance of that. So, I peeled my wet things off down to the first dry layer I could find — my skin.
There was hay in the barn. I unwrapped my bedroll; still dry in its plastic bag; and made myself comfortable till morning. I think I slept, but morning came long before sunup.
The nightmare voice was the second shock that woke me. The first was the blinding light of a thousand suns that filled the barn screaming. No, no. The man was screaming, shining a klieg-bright light into my eyes. Awake in seconds, I tried to remember where I was, what happened.
"What ye doin' here, boy?!" The voice was angry. The light caught a brief glint of a shotgun.
A SHOTGUN!
Pointed at me! — a very frightened, very naked man on the straw covered bedroll.
"I just wanted to get out of the rain." That sounded lame.
"What rain? Ain't rainin' now. Git outa here! Git!"
Yes I did. Out of my bedroll, back into my thoroughly wet clothes (have you ever tried to put on wet clothes in a hurry?), up on my bike, and back out the door I once thought was my salvation; the shotgun pointed at me the whole time.