Storm chasing is a profession, or at least a scientific curiosity. In my case it represented a metaphorical starting point on my unconventional journey.
Santa Fe features a prominent “monsoon” season during the latter portion of July through August. Otherwise rain and snow are somewhat uncommon, being mountainous desert and whatnot - although spring and early summer are also prone to an occasional soaking downpour. In this case, thunderstorms had ravished Santa Fe during the late evening, gifting us with a spectacle of sonic and visual fury. Fortunately, for driving purposes, the majority of the heavy weather had left the area, prior to my departure.
The most striking factor of high-desert electrical storms is their intensely striking beauty. Viewed from the mountains onto the mesas, storm watchers are treated to scowling black and gray wisps, which whip across the desert depositing jagged tongues of blanched whites, neon yellows and astonishingly vivid pinks along their course. Watching these fronts dance and weave, scooting around and down the mountains, is a breathtaking experience.
As I buzzed out of Santa Fe, up I-25 through Las Vegas (New Mexico that is - a town which eerily apes Haddonfield, Illinois – The stalking ground of Michael Myers in the Halloween films), the storms had a head start on me. I noticed patches of the typically arid interstate were littered with puddles whenever the storm-front had crossed over it. My headlights glistened in the inky pools as I sped through them, trying to keep pace with the rapidly-moving storms.
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