Our bikes are wedged at the bow of the bouncing boat as it speeds over the white caps, we stand ready, rain jacket hoods up over our heads. Nick, the captain of the water taxi shouting over the wind…..here it comes!

We weren’t sure he would agree to come to the marina in Dillon to get us….he kept talking about lighting strikes, aluminum boat, rough seas…. We were beginning to understand what he meant.

Our plan was to bike a popular paved trail from Frisco to Dillon around the lake and enjoy a water taxi ride back to Frisco. We began our ride under a blanket of blue and white with a soft north east wind in our faces. Six miles later standing on the dock at the Dillon Marina, menacing black clouds with dark smoky fingers were crawling over the mountains reaching for our side of the lake.

Now our eyes were glued forward over the bow of the boat; a monster “wall of water” at least 1,000 feet high pushed by winds exceeding 35 MPH was consuming the landscape. The mountains, the trees, the meadows, the town, disappearing before us as if a giant eraser were wiping a school house chalk board.

We hit the wall. The downpour was exactly like going through the car wash without the protection of your car. 5 long minutes…we and Nic soaked to the bone. Lighting strikes off in the distance, none overhead….thank goodness. I was laughing with childish delight and then it turned cold…..