Out here, on the Front Range of Colorado, there is one thing that is guarandamnteed to make people stark raving mad.
No, it’s not the Broncos.
No, it’s not fresh powder in the mountains and the knowledge that you have to suffer through driving on I-70 to enjoy it.
It’s the wind.
The unholy, please God make it stop, wind.
The blowing tumbleweeds (yes, they really exist and they suck) that attach themselves to the undercarriage of the car. The “why did I bother?” hairdo. The smell of dust throughout the house. The layer of dust and dirt and God knows what else in the window and deck door tracks. The sound of the attic vents slapping. Seeing the water in the toilet bowls slosh around the bowl. Exhausting yourself trying to keep the van in a straight line driving.
We’re getting a little bit of wind today.
As in, 20-30 miles per hour, with the possibility of gusts up to 80+ mph. Folks, that’s hurricane force winds. And I have a construction site directly behind my house.
Anyone want to take bets on what will come flying over the fence and hit my house? And at what hour? I’m going with a piece of pipe at 2:34 am.