Tornado Chasing For Dummies -- Wild Ride 2008

*Blogger's note: two prior storm chases this year were rather unproductive, if amusing in my fumbling, stumbling-into-stuff kinda way. Yet, even in the midst of plenty...*

Wednesday, June 11, 2008. Remind me to compliment the National Weather Service's Storm Prediction Center online. They convinced me it might be profitable to venture into east/central Kansas, on a storm chase. Despite the distance, the prohibitive price of gas, and the fact that it's Kansas. Miles and miles of boredom, oh my.

It was a long, increasingly hot journey, from Lakewood, Colorado, to Hays, Kansas. And at around $4.00/gallon gasoline, it was a pricey venture, even in my fuel-efficient Saturn. I almost had to put my pet rock Seymour up for collateral for gas when I stopped over in Colby to refuel. And things weren't looking so good -- bright, unthreatening skies, very unstorm-like -- as I got there.

But the good folks at the NWS SPC aren't there to delude goofs like me into ultimately expending three tanks of increasingly pricey gas for nothing. I ventured on east, past Hays, seeking enlightenment. Past Hays and before Russell, Kansas, what I was seeing ahead and to my southeast was suggesting that the trip wasn't wasted, baby: the skies were turning nasty.

Beautifully so, if you're cracked like me.

I parked off the highway for a spell, and sought out a radio station that might have a weather update; one on the AM dial (it might have been 1070am) reported possible tornadic activity near a place called Olmitz. A place I didn't initially find on my map (not realizing it was about 35 miles south and west of where I currently was, outside of Bunker Hill, KS). I decided to advance a bit more eastward, and bailed off the highway to sit and await developments at about mile marker 216, a bit northwest of Ellsworth, KS, and a place where I had a road net to flee..er...head north or south on, as well as east/west on I-70, in case conditions warranted. I parked on the north side of the interstate, and awaited developments.

Unknowingly, I'd parked myself in a the kind of place I'd been trying to get to. Sort of.

As the skies got gnarly in a enthralling kind of way, other reports began to surface: severe thunderstorms in Barton and Ellsworth Counties; a tornado reported north and northeast of Claflin; another reported near Holyrood and Lorraine. I was keeping busy with my map, when I found the places noted. I noted the track of the reported storms.

S/SW of me and coming my way.

Fool that I am, I elected to sit tight. I had my nose pointed south, in case a quick exit was called for, but I wanted to see what was lurking to the SW.

Whatever might be lurking, a cow-peeing-on-a-flat rock rain opened up, cutting badly into my visibility to the south. Then came a report of a possible tornado NW of Ellsworth; only nine miles SE of me! Unfortunately, I couldn't see it; the rain was coming down in sheets, and hail was becoming part of the mix. But I suspected something might be nearby, as the winds were getting downright stout. Even though the hail was only pea-to-nickel-sized, it was hitting my vehicle with a force that could only mean very strong winds.

My excitement level was rising, as was the strain on my sphincter, all based on my inability to see much more than yards away from my vehicle. With the winds rising as they were -- I now guesstimated the winds blowing in excess of 50 mph -- if IT was out there, IT was shielded from my vision by the virtual monsoon. Whether it was a rain-wrapped tornado, or just damaging winds from a strong thunderstorm, I couldn't see sh...er..squat to take a photo of my quarry, unless it waltzed up and introduced itself. Great for a photo, but bad for getting me and the Saturn back home in two relative pieces. Besides, I don't know any waltz steps.

I never saw IT, nor do I know if IT was closer than I wanted IT to be; by the time the fury of the local storm had passed, I was hearing about warnings both east and NE of me.

This annoyed me greatly. I went on east and then north for a spell, in time to hear about a tornado warning for a town in Ottawa County; a quick check of the map showed me in Ottawa County, but about 12-15 miles SW of the reported tornado sighting. Which, from my vantage point, I couldn't see.

About this time, I kinda knew how General Patton felt: the whole vicinity full of tornadoes, and I'm left OUT OF IT?? Eh..it makes sense if you saw the movie, and I digress.

It was beginning to rain again -- hard -- with more of that pea-sized hail, but before I took cover in the shelter of my now thoroughly unamused Saturn, I got a photo of what I believe was a funnel cloud, a few miles to my north (see above). But only one: the skies opened up again, and visibility dropped to yards again.

I was about 425 miles or so from home by now, and I wasn't equipped to chase at night. One stinking photo for 425 miles. Grrrrrr.

With reluctance...and a bit of an urgent need to relieve the spinchter...I turned about for the long ride home. The highlight of which was the chocolate shake I bought in Colby, along with tank #3 of precious, Seymour-collateral gasoline. If ever oil was rightly called black gold, it's nowadays.

I suppose I could have mounted a sail on the Saturn, and saved some on the fuel usage. Then again, the savings would have been wiped out by my having to drive home from Tennessee.

The next day, I went online and learned what I'd been in the middle of, out there west of Salina, Kansas. Some will probably say I was lucky, not to have wound up a more interactive part of it.

Perhaps true. I just think that after about 850 miles, about $110 worth of gas, and getting the snarf beat out of me in a severe thunderstorm, I can't say that one friggin' photo of a funnel cloud was exactly what I had in mind.

But it sure was a wild ride for a time.

Tornado Chasing for Dummies -- 2006

June 2006, proved a disappointing storm chase season for me. So when conditions were projected to be 'potentially unstable' for Denver and points east on Thursday, June 22, I decided to give it a go. After all, being "potentially unstable" myself, I felt a kind of kinship with like company.

Usually I chase alone; this time, I had a passenger, an invisible one I didn't invite: Murphy, and his dadgummed law.

For instance, in late May I had reloaded my 35mm film supply, as well as picked up an extra battery for the camera, in case my two year old battery went phfft, or I ran into particularly good shooting.

I apparently forgot to put them in the car. I blame Murphy (ML # somethin' or other: You'll forget what you forgot you forgot, until you need it, when your 'forget' forgets, and you'll realize you forgot it). So all I had along was the one partially-used roll of film already in the camera: four shots of which remained.

Of course, I could have remembered this in time to rectify it with a stop and purchase of extra film in Bennett, CO, my usual staging area east of Denver on I-70. But it wasn't until after I departed Bennett -- hurriedly -- that I made what proved to be my second discovery. The hurried departure was the result of Murphy's first discovered intrusion into my chase plans (ML # somethin' er other: weather and it's real (vs projected) tracks don't give a damn about your best laid plans). What was supposed to be good conditions evolving along the foothills and moving east was, in fact, doing so: but south of I-70. Not from Denver to the east, but from Colorado Springs to the east/northeast.

I was on the wrong side of the building storms again.

Thanks, Murf.

So I made a quick (but legal...*wink*) redeployment to just west of Limon, CO, where state highway CO 86 heads back west/southwest from I-70. The storm track appeared to be moving toward, or just south of Limon and points immediately south; I reasoned a deployment into the sparsely populated area of eastern Kiowa and/or Elbert County would potentially allow me to overcome Murphy.

It did; and it didn't.

Prodigious in my storm chase deficiencies is my vehicle: a Saturn Ion. It's a great vehicle for what it's meant to be; an all-terrain, all roads/conditions vehicle isn't one of them. As I learned in '05, using the local dirt roads for more precise interceptions in a storm wasn't an option, as the dirt turned to slime, and my tires (new in '05, and now surpassing 25,000 miles of use) were only adequate for non-snow/ice-bearing pavement. So I was stuck with Hwy 86, or any other paved roads I encountered.

In Kiowa and eastern Elbert County, that ain't many. And 86 -- a good road, to be sure -- is only two lanes, with not a lot of places to turn around in a hurry, should conditions require me to make a tactical withdrawal with the alacrity of a striped-ass gazelle.

As I plowed along west, both visual sign and weather radio sign became encouraging: ever-more ominous storm clouds were before me, and a radio report of a possible tornado near Franktown in Douglas County (west of Elbert County) gave me cause to think I might get lucky, even coming in from the wrong direction, again. Then came another weather alert: tornado sighting near the town of Elbert (where it reportedly damaged a couple homes, also to my west). Another head-to-head reckoning was stupidly on the menu.

But and again, from the wrong direction: it's called storm chasing for a reason. Running into the storm from head-on isn't what seasoned storm chasers consider too bright. Fortunately, I've never claimed to be too bright.

Finally, at a point roughly 10 or so miles east of Kiowa, CO, I found IT: a funnel cloud (it wasn't on the ground at this point). I also found rain. Hail. And some pretty gusty winds, what with the bucking and rocking my Saturn was doing. I quickly pulled over and got off one shot before Murphy's Law chose to reveal my third discovery: with a tired phffft, my camera battery died.

(Expletives -- in heart-felt plurality -- deleted)!

On top of that, after my one and only shot of the funnel -- which I wasn't even sure I got at the time -- the skies opened up. Including through my open window.

I hope Murphy got as wet as I did, before I got the window up.

So there I was, stopped along 86, vehicle rocking, cursing Murphy and a dead camera, while my one observed funnel cloud was now lost to view through the deluge. It was obvious to me that there might be more fireworks yet to come; it was also obvious to me I was in a lousy spot, at a lousy point in a getting-lousy storm, with a lousy camera inoperative because of a lousy dead battery, and a lousy invisible passenger I blamed for the whole lousy situ-lousy-ation.

Thus up to my ass in lousy -- not that you would have guessed it -- a rather frustrated decision demanded I do the one smart thing I did that lousy afternoon: I turned the Ion around with heavy heart and blue air, and ran like a lousy wet, striped-ass gazelle back in the direction of I-70.

On the way back to Denver, I encountered quite a photo op on the backside of the storm; hoping beyond hope that perhaps the camera battery had enough umph to take one last photo, I tested Murphy.

It actually took (before it went phffft again). So all in all, the two photos I managed that day tweren't all bad, all things considered (I cropped the funnel photo, but left the backside of the storm photo in it's original form). But I was damned if I'd ever take Murphy along on another storm chase. On this I was adamant.

ML # somethin' er other: Regardless of my or anyone elses' plans, Murphy goes where and when Murphy wants.

*Sigh* Yawp.

Note: no 2007 episode...but there sure as hell was in June, 2008.

Tornado Chasing for Dummies -- 2005

Thursday, June 2, 2005. With a forecast of moderate to severe storms "guaranteed" for Denver and points east, it was time to set out once again and venture forth into the maelstrom. Unlike my two previous efforts in '04, I opted this year to base my operation from the town of Bennett, Colorado, right off I-70. Bennett had been a source of a couple of near-misses in '04, and offered an excellent road net for pursuit in all directions.

Upon my arrival there, I was reinforced in my decision by the presence of a couple of professional storm chase vehicles. I wasted no time in chatting with the pros, and made good use of the time availed as we awaited storms that were still building up on the foothills west of Denver. One patient pro noted my vehicle of choice -- my '03 Saturn Ion -- and suggested that it might not fare well on the dirt roads hereabouts, once the rains turned them into "grease". Not having experienced the dirt roads hereabouts after a good rain, I didn't necessarily heed or dismiss his observation, but I did have cause later to remember it. Despite my lack of equipment and formal training, the chasers didn't object to my following along as far as I'd be able to.

Soon it became time to move: with a terse "the approaching storm is developing faster than the radar could track", the scramble was on to head north, and position to "ride it out". During this 'hurry up and wait' mode, I made some notes on tips the storm chasers imparted to me:

--patience is a storm chaser's best friend

--backside pursuit is the idea; plowing into a storm head-on is unduly risky and usually unprofitable (aka, my 2004 experiences)

--know your area road net well (I had a map, albeit a 15 year old one...)

--be mindful of not only the road net, but the terrain around the road net, to avoid getting into a situation before one can get out of it (ya learn as ya go...)

--get some equipment and get some training from SkyWarn (their little suggestive dig for a six-fingered amateur).

Additionally, I had my own lesson to include: a catheter, or at least a bottle to pee in ;-)

The storm came up and dumped on us: rain, at times torrential, with pea-sized hail and strong, buffeting winds. The storm chasers stood pat riding it out, and then took off with some urgency to the north. As I would learn later, their on-board computer's doppler indicated a classic 'hook echo' setting up to the N/NE of us, on the now backside of the storm. Soon they came to a dirt road intersection, and turned east in pursuit.

At least it'd been a dirt road before the downpour: now it was exactly as the storm chaser had warned me: it was 'grease'. As their 4x4s continued to barrel east at near highway speeds, my Saturn was sliding all over the place, and beginning to sarcastically 'oink' at me. My speed necessarily fell away in a hurry, so I could remain on what remained of the road surface. The storm chasers were quickly out of sight, and there was no way I could catch up to them in the slime of this road. With the lesson sloppily learned, I regretfully found a place to turn around, and eased my way back the four miles to the hard surface highway we'd left, with my Saturn sardonically oinking all the way at me.

The car and I would have a heart-to-heart later.

Once again on solid road, I was mocked by a tornado warning near Hoyt, Colorado -- a few miles down the road I had just abandoned. Instead, I returned to Bennett, then headed east on US 36 toward Last Chance, Colorado. Plenty of storm activity was still brewing all along the I-70 corridor, and out this highway I had plenty of room to maneuver and see whatever was coming, going or breathing hard (ducking a few boos and throwd items).

Running east, a few miles SW of Last Chance, I knew I was closing on something: I passed two storm chase vehicles off to the side, along with a half-dozen other vehicles, including two tractor-trailers. Obviously, something was out ahead of them. Forgetting the patience lesson, I plunged on, intent to close with whatever it was. In the distance -- perhaps ten miles -- I could see what appeared to be a funnel cloud, though it was too far away to effectively shoot with my camera.

At that time, a decision needed making: the radio announced that another storm had gone tornadic NE of Kiowa, and was moving E/NE, toward Limon, on the I-70 corridor. I was approaching Colorado Highway 71, with a straight shot south to Limon, about 45 miles away. One last glance to the east -- whatever had been there, was gone -- and I decided it was Limon or bust.

Once again, I forgot to heed the tip about patience: I headed south to try to get into Limon before the storm did. I did consider pulling up short of Limon and letting the storm pass; but I didn't know how big the storm was, and there was nothing much out here north of the town. I decided to gamble and go for Limon ahead of the storm.

I lost.

Several miles north of Limon, I met the leading edge, as I began taking rain and some rather ferocious crosswinds. Winds that were stout enough to challenge my staying on the road a few times. Moreover, in various spots, where field accesses to the road existed, I noted tumbleweeds crossing the road. Like missiles. In one case, I swear I saw a prairie dog hanging onto a missileweed, screaming as it blew by.

Okay, so that's a bit of an embellishment: the prairie dog was probably too terrified to scream. It was probably just the wind, or my car; it never much cared for rodents, flying or otherwise.

Now came the hail: one-inch diameter, hitting the car with sufficient force to make me wince. The car's earlier sardonic oinking was replaced with epithets of its own, probably regarding my lack of patience.

A mile north of Limon -- I could see the town from my vantage point -- I cleared the hail, and found myself amidst another group of storm chase vehicles. All eyes thereabouts were glued to a rotating, swirling wall of clouds, mottled in a deep, black-green, approaching low and fast from the southwest, less than a mile away. The clouds looked as if they were 'tumbling' toward us. From that angle, I had never seen anything like it (the two photos above don't do the motion justice, trust me).

I had a notion that running, one way or another, might just make sense. But I was too busy shooting photos to exercise it. Ominous as it appeared on its rapid approach, it didn't sweep us or the town of Limon off the map; but I did watch a somersaulting cloud go tumbling by us at little more than an eighth of a mile. That was a new one for me. No one held up score cards, so I don't know how well it did on presentation and technique.

I then learned from one storm chaser that the storm had "flattened out", and lost it's tornadic punch. He couldn't exactly explain what we had just witnessed, either; but he had "awesome" video of it. "Perhaps my professor can explain it", he mused.

With the storm "flattened out", I had little more to accomplish here, and with dusk settling in, I wasn't equipped for night chasing, so I again -- tornadoless -- turned for home.

The storm might have "flattened out", but it hadn't yet "emptied out".

About six miles west of Limon, it began to rain. Eh. I continued on at 70 mph. For about a quarter of a mile. Then the skies just flat opened up (see photo you can't see in, above). I took that photo after my speed had dropped to 25 mph....it was the heaviest rain I've ever run into in Colorado in the 34 years I've been here. I began to hope I wasn't going slower than the Queen Elizabeth II, in case she was out here somewhere.

At least the Saturn didn't know the theme from Jaws to further taunt me with.

Again, no tornadoes. But I'd learned a few things, including (a) my car knew how to taunt me audibly (b) I might have witnessed a screaming prairie dog, or not (c) I had seen something meteorologic that I'd never seen before and (d) I would have to work on those tips I'd been given by the storm chasers. The future would show how well I enacted them.

UPDATE: in a later email (about a week later) from one of the chasers I'd chatted with early on, I learned that my decision to turn back when I did in the muck was one of the rare wise decisions I'd made that day: about three miles east of where I'd turned back, the chaser's vehicles had bogged down in the mud, caught between two flood plains. Took them two hours to dig out and wait for the water to recede. So they missed the Hoyt tornado, too. I didn't ask if their 4x4s were oinking at them as well...

Next up: TCfD III -- 2006

Tornado Chasing For Dummies -- 2004

*from the website archives...as tornado season 2010 approaches, I'll revisit a couple-three of my prior 'tornado chasing for dummies' experiences from previous years*

Wednesday, June 9, 2004. A date which will live in personal infamy. With the weather reports suggesting good conditions for severe weather with a moderate possibility of tornadoes, I headed NE along the I-76 corridor, to a rest stop near the burg of Wiggen, Colorado. With the potential storm track E/NE, I figured I was in a good position to await developments right there.

But the weather gods decided to toy with me, first: shortly after I arrived at my staging area, a tornado warning was broadcast...for southwest Denver. The weather gods have no mercy, but they do have a matchless sense of "gotcha".

Nonetheless, the storm track indicated an E/NE direction. The last laugh might yet prove mine.

For the next 90 minutes, I sat, observed, listened, calculated. All of which proved I wasn't very good at the calculating portion of the litany. The storm was tracking E/NE. But on it's current course, it would pass well SE of me. And time was awasting: I needed to get to Bennett, Colorado, and fast. From where I was, it'd take the better part of an hour.

As I raced south, then west, then south again, the skies ominously darkened, the clouds lowered, and off to my SW I saw promise: a puny-looking funnel cloud, rating a minus Phfft-1 on some scale (probably the phffft scale I'm known to employ on a cornudopia of things). Yeah, I did shoot it; yeah, you can barely discern it (if I had bothered to include the photo...I didn't).

I was after bigger game.

Now southbound toward Bennett, I ran into the leading edge of the storm, as wind, rain and hail began to pummel me and impede my progress south. Progress made more urgent when the National Weather Service issued a tornado warning, five miles N of Bennett, Colorado, moving NE at 20 mph. I was, at that moment, 17 miles north of Bennett, headed due south at 65 mph.

Unfortunately, my angle of pursuit was, again, faulty in the extreme: I was plowing into the storm, and not chasing it, as is recommended. As the storm intensified over me, my speed of advance dropped to 25 mph, and my visibility dropped to sh**. The fields on either side of the road were under water, and I was concerned about running afoul of a freighter out here, as much as I needed to keep my eyes glued to the south, where 'IT' lurked.

Finally, I came upon a couple of TV news vehicles, with occupants out in the elements, shooting something in the air. I stopped and managed to get one photo of a funnel cloud in remission (see photo at right, top). 'IT', after having touched down and run a spell, slunk back up into the clouds. I'd missed meeting it head-on by scant moments.

Being philosophical about such things, I waxed poetically along the lines of *$@#*%! or words to that effect.

Having used up the film I had along, I turned and headed back home, where I found the weather gods had one more "gotcha" to throw at me.

The effects of the previous storm on the Metro Area were in clear evidence as I hit I-70 into east Aurora: traffic came to a screeching halt. For the next 90 minutes, I was part of a 0-5 miles per hour crawl on I-70 west, seeing evidence here and there of earlier heavy rains and hail. Finally, a traffic report revealed the reason for the tie-up: at I-70 and Colorado Blvd, storm drains had backed up, and the highway was under 2 feet of water. But the water was slowly receding, and traffic was muddling through. Soon, I finally saw the upcoming pond.

As I started into it, I neglected to notice a couple key elements that gave the weather gods the last laugh: (a) the large-tired truck to my left was coming up faster than I was moving and (b) my driver's side window was down six inches. As the truck caught up to me in Colorado Lake, a text-book arc of water came washing over the top of my Saturn. And through the open window.

Now, most folks would think that getting caught in a flash flood in a car is a bad situation, indeed. But folks who know me wouldn't be the least bit surprised to have seen me -- drenched in muddy water and laughing my ass off -- driving along with one hand, and wiping down the trashed dash with a desperately-yearning-to-be-elsewhere gym towel.

The weather gods are up 2-0, on gotchas and last laughs.

Next up: TCfD II -- 2005

Deceiving The Beast

*First run in late May 2008; since it seemed a good precursor for the last tornado chase season, here we go agin...*

Note: The first storm chase opportunity came sooner than expected, and defied conventional logic: big tornadoes moving N/NW, close to the foothills. I may have gotten one funnel cloud in decay phase, nothing more :( The storms did better, direct hitting Windsor, CO and Parkersburg, IA. Both of which will recover; strong as a tornado can be, the human spirit's pretty feisty in small town America. Now on to the relevance of the photos...

The first thing one will notice here is the structural, aerodynamic, and philosophical design differences in the two photos. Both vehicles are not of one mission: one is a multi-purpose vehicle, with just one of it's various missions to pursue a good tornado photo*. The other is geared solely toward that objective.

From there, the specifics diverge a tad.

One vehicle is roughly 2200 lbs; the other is 16,500. One vehicle is front-wheel drive; the others is ten-wheel drive. One vehicle cost the owner $14,000; the other is costing it's owner(s) several hundred thousand dollars. One runs on regular unleaded gas; the other runs on diesel. One gets 35 mph on the open road, and even better with a 100 plus mph tail wind; the other gets 3 gallons to the mile...maybe.

One is equipped with all the latest nothing for storm chasing, save for the driver's car radio, fallible eyes, and highly questionable judgement; the other is equipped with all the latest meteorological tracking features, including wind-and-roll-resistant cupholders for four.

One can outrun any almost any storm that exists if the driver gets some sense before it's too late; the other has no intention of doing so. One plans to get close, shoot and scoot; the other...plans to do what the owner(s) claim has never been done before: photograph a tornado from the inside.

*snort*

Sorry, dudes: Dorothy and Toto already claim that distinction; ever seen The Wizard of Oz?

Houses, witches on bikes and brooms, flying monkeys...we already know some of the really weird crap that inhabits the inside of a tornado. Even Twister has been there and done that, as Bill Paxson and Helen Hunt got the ultimate blow*** from a CGI F-5.

Several hundred thousand dollars, dudes, and you've already been trumped.

Of course, if my angle of pursuit is incorrect, or my positioning in a storm's path is inopportune, I may beat the Tornado Tank to the 'perfect photo op'. With that possibility in mind -- despite earlier claims of being able to outrun trouble -- I decided to explore adopting some of the philosophy of the owners of the Tornado Tank, and figured a little 'armoring up' wasn't a bad ideer.

So I tried an experiment on my five year old Ion (*2010 makes it now seven years old*) : I lovingly layered it under sheets of kevlar armor. I reckoned that ten layers would give it sufficient protection in the event of a tornadic direct hit.

Initial tests were proof positive: the car was relatively impervious. And totally immobilized.

Unless I want to have a U-Haul truck tote my armor plating to east of Elizabeth, CO, and spend a couple hours or so strapping and fitting it on, and then just hoping that a tornado might form up and run right over the top of me. Which it would have to do once I'm armored up, because the car ain't goin' nowhere with all that armor on.

And the odds are almost as good of a tornado picking where I sit completely immobilized, as my buying a winning*** powerball ticket.

Then it hit me****: the most important -- and historically crucial -- difference between my storm chase vehicle and the vastly more technological and pricey version pictured above, would be in the disguise I give my armoring job: I make my weighted-down Saturn look like a mobile home.

*TOING*

I'm guaranteed to bring every tornado within a supercell thunderstorm down on me with that ploy; the Tornado Tank doesn't look enough like a trailer home to get much more than a passing "hmpft!" from a meandering leviathan. But an Ion, dressed out to resemble a double-wide on a wind-swept plain, with a nice bullseye drawn on it's roof, is a mesocyclonic magnet.

The end of May and June are just around the corner, and I might just beat the Tornado Tank to the punch.

Long as I have a long, downhill head start...or my Ion's disguise fools a mischievous tornado into a false sense of eagerly anticipated trailer park mayhem. Stay tuned...

* since G(overnment)M killed the Saturn product line, this won't be a future advertisement

** this is sometimes a family-friendly blog, I hadda remind myself...

*** well actually, I think the tornado's got a better chance

**** with my luck, prolly not...

A Rumor of Kansas

*Author's note: this entry was originally released 9-2-05; updated 7-31-08; and re-released in April '10, in keeping with the travel humor theme of late*

In a recent post I read, a blogger was in the midst of waxing most favorably about his driving visit to Colorado. Like most good things, it -- the visit -- had to come to an end. Faced with a return to Texas, he opted for the eastern route out of Colorado, and faced that dire dearth of splendor to the east, what he referred to as "the visual equivalent of wiping ones' eyes with sandpaper".

Kansas.

Being a native Iowan, I am accustomed to jokes about my particular state of origin (note: Stephen King's Children of the Corn used Nebraska as a backdrop, not Iowa..nyah nyah). Being a transplant in Colorado, I am accustomed to hearing and making jokes about transplanted Texans (about hunting), Califorlornians (about them having screwed up their state, and now seeking to do the same here), Floridians (about their winter driving and ballot-reading inacumen). And of course, who hasn't heard a joke or two about the great waste of the northern plains, North Dakota, rumored to be one of the last places on Earth that the Ice Age revisits yearly, along with my ex-fiancee, but I digress.

For anyone who's driven across Kansas by accident or design, and survived the sheer boredom of it, well..."ack" doesn't begin to describe it. Travelling east, you leave the splendor of Colorado's mountains and foothills, and emerge into a vast...flatness, relieved only by crossing the border into Misery.

Freudian slip...Missouri.

In Colorado, on a clear day you can climb to the top of a mountain, and see for miles in every direction. In Kansas, you can do the same thing using an 8' step ladder.

But the thrill just ain't there.

I once mused that so much of eastern Colorado, from Limon to the border, looked so much like Kansas -- flat and desolate -- that Colorado would eventually declare, fight, and win a border war with Kansas. Then, flush with victory, Colorado would force Kansas to take everything east of Limon.

Misery -- not the state -- loves company.

But I would be most remiss if I didn't acknowledge that there is another side to Kansas, and many a staunch ally who stand up vociferously for that side of Kansas. To them, Kansas is the I-ching. Kansas is an oracle. A temple, a shrine. Indeed, a diety. Kansas is the answer to all things mesocyclonic. Kansas is a paragon of EF* virtue. Kansas isn't Iowa...but it, to this sect of dedicated, devoted, science and meteorologically-oriented, mild-to-madly-insane lunatics, is Heaven.

Storm chasers.

To them, beholding mesocyclonic supercells on the vast plains of Kansas, is akin to a deeply poignant, intensely moving religious experience. To drive through horizontal rain, and suffer the slings and arrows..er..the dings and pits of golf ball/worse size hail, to get that perfect image of the swirling leviathan from the 'bear cage', is akin to a cigarette after perfect sex, or a score in a karaoke bar that doesn't lose it's luster outside of barlighting.

Well, sorta.

For them, the miles tallied in Kansas are a badge of honor. It is the Yellow Brick Road of meteorologic reality. And in the midst of what they seek, it's not unlike the interior of a Walmart the day after Xmas. Or Katrina.

And just so's you know, I do know a person or two who resides in Kansas, and do so by choice. Yeah, they do seem pretty sane, and neither one's a storm chaser. And they proudly love it.

It's one of the many rumors that is Kansas.

* Enhanced Fujita Scale, a system of rating the energy/destructive power of a tornado