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THERE'S not going to be much to this because it's all told in a handful of words: blasting wind, pouring rain, plunging temperature and a fear of tornados.

I don't know when the rain started. You never care when it starts: you care only when you go out in it. It fell on flat-roofed convenience stores and splashed on squares of vacant concrete where once something had happened, and it glistened on rails where trains never arrived.

The wind pushed us out of town and the crowds grew an ill-tempered frown. The road turned and the gale came close to falling in step, undecided whether to be behind us or, its final choice, to push us while pouting and also barging our shoulders. It buffeted us and pushed us, alternately helping and being awkward. And all the time the rain fell and splashed the road into muddy puddles.

We hid in the shelter of a low bridge wall and ate sandwiches as rain dripped down our necks. We shivered and looked for extra clothes. The day grew older but darker and the wind turned to our side and whispered threats in our ears. Twice we stopped drivers for news of tornado warnings. But there'd been nothing but talk of floods. And advice to stay at home.

Tonight, in Larned, we met an eastbound Transam rider who'd done just that. And he didn't look in the least as though he regretted it.