“We’re going to the storm shelter. Do you want a ride?”
I’d just finished cooking my dinner when the campground hosts pulled up. My gear was unloaded and spread out against the wall of the bandstand.
“No thanks. I’ll be fine.”
I had a roof, a floor, and a single wall. Perfectly adequate weather protection. Why did people fret so much about a little weather?
A few minutes later, as I ate my rice and vegetables, a siren went off on the opposite side of the Mississippi River. What’s that for? I wondered. A minute later, the freight train of wind and rain roared in. I stood against the wall, my tank top and shorts instantly soaked, and wrapped my yoga mat around me. (Because yoga will save me from a tornado.)
A few yards away, a huge tree fell over. I didn’t hear or see it fall down.
It wasn’t really a tornado, but what does a Californian know about extreme weather? Next time, I’ll go directly to the Church basement and skip the campground altogether.
When the wind subsided enough that I wasn’t getting sprayed with a fire hose, I set up my storm shelter. I pulled out my rainfly and tucked it around myself and my panniers. I even managed to sleep for awhile before the campground hosts returned to check up on me.
The next morning, the resident RVers invited me over to their brunch circle to talk about my trip and adventures the night before.
I’m glad I hadn’t set up my tent because the wind would’ve destroyed it. Lately I’ve gotten tired of setting up the tent all the time. It’s too muggy. I’d rather find a roof.
Here are some of my best sleeping spots of late:
Spinstera 