Racing the rain to Bardstown, KY

Last night I woke up to the sound of Melissa’s frustrated and whimpering sounds. She was half way out the tent and half asleep, trying in vein to zip the fly closed. It was storming. Bad. The wind was ripping through the shelter we had pitched our tent in. Ripping though so much so, that the sides of the tent were lifting off the ground.

“The tent’s going to blow away,” she cried when I asked her what she was doing.

I told her that I highly doubted the wind could lift the tent, with a 150-pound woman inside, off the ground and down the road. I finally got her back in the tent. But I kept waking up. Because, it was a really bad storm. I was scared. I think we were both scared that a tornado was on the way.

We had checked the weather the day before, and saw that it was supposed to rain all day. When we woke up, the sky was fairly clear. We packed up the tent as quickly as possible and hit the road.

We didn’t want to get stuck in Springfield another day. We had been advised and told by too many people in that small town that, ‘we’d better be packing’. And, on top of that, whenever we asked a local if there was anything in the town to do, they would all reply, “uhhhh, there’s fast food . . . .”

So we raced the rain to Bardstown, about 24 miles away. Thankfully we beat it by about two hours.

Brooke