1990, or so, in the foothills of Fort Collins. I was on my regular training route, 30 miles or so. A wicked cloud appeared from a mountain top. A storm was a brewing, big time. A bit of rain, then graupel. The violence erupted with a pummeling of hail. Certainly there would be suffering. Gulf ball sized brutality was upon me; God Bless the fact I was 5-10 miles from home! I searched for shelter and it came by way of a covered patio, behind a lovely house.
The storm only lasted a short while, as is the case in my unpredictable, sweet Colorado. The descent was a mild spin of the cranks, home was an easy distance. As I rode, the sun was at my back, as is the case in my unpredictable, sweet Colorado.