* In case you aren’t sure, it’s OK to laugh at this; pretty sure Chris was either rolling his eyes or laughing inside the entire time

For those who haven’t had the chance to ~really~ get to know me yet, here’s a fun fact: I have some anxiety and fears. Needles definitely top the list, but I’ll save that one for another day. Lightning isn’t far behind, and that’s what this story centers around.

I think it all started with a few bad climbs up Mount Darby in Wyoming involving some late afternoon thunderstorms when I was a child. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever climbed up Mount Darby and had it NOT storm sometime during the hike. My mom calls it the Devil’s Mountain. These experiences inspired a poem/song the summer that I turned 12, and even a paper when I was a senior in high school.

My fear even thwarted a few of Chris’ proposal attempts on our last trip. I like to think that I have learned to listen to my gut on this trip, but I did not do that on day 5.

After 45 miles, Chris and I were both feeling pretty good for the first time on this trip. However, the sky had been threatening to let loose all day. There was a big climb in front of us, and we decided to go for it: one more push, and then we would find a spot to camp.

As we climbed upwards, the lightning and thunder drew closer. Becoming more and more regretful and terrified by the second, I asked Chris, “Did you know my dad told me lightning usually strikes near the front of the storm?”

“You tell me that literally every time we are anywhere near a storm,” he replied.

“But I think we are near the front of this one.” No response from Chris, because he knows what’s coming next and is already annoyed.

Probably less than a minute later, with drops starting to fall around us, and thunder booming long and loud from the skies above, I am hyperventilating and sobbing: “We are on METAL bicycles, going up! Lightning hits tall, metal things! Chris, are you even listening to me?! This feels like jumping in front of a freaking train. This seems so stupid!”

A minute later, chest still heaving with sobs: “If I die, tell my mom and dad that I love them!”

I start singing the refrain of a hymn from my childhood repeatedly, while the lyrics slowly morph into my own creation:

“Oh God, you’re an awesome God;
You reign from heaven above
With wisdom, power, and love
Oh God, you’re an awesome God.

Oh God, you’re an awesome God;
Don’t rain on us right now.
Oh God, I don’t want to die;
Dear God, I’m not ready to die.”

As we reached the top of the climb, Chris pointed at a bench, “Look, Rach! Want to go sit and check out the view?” he teased.

“I bet it would be a beautiful freakin’ view if it weren’t for this storm!” I retorted, “I just want to get down to lower elevation!”

When we did finally get down to where I felt safe, the rain started pouring down. We hid in the woods under some tall trees, shivering and waiting for what felt like hours before we could venture out to find a camping spot.

When we reached Sunset Guiding two days later, the gals working there were talking about how wild the lightning from this storm had been and mentioned that it started a fire near Nordegg, the town we had started day 5 in. At least my ridiculous reaction to the storm was somewhat justified!