ONE WILD RIDE INTO TOWN!

August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 12:10AM, Saturday; March 10th, 2007)
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Desert life is something else.

Apart from the stillness in the air and the absence of life, the panoramic views of the Golan Desert is a vision to behold.

Sharply rising dunes of golden sand, the marble blue skies, and the flat expanses between my place and Shark's Bay, gives me something to reflect on--making me feel like I am alone and insignificant out here in the middle of nowhere.

My trip into the old town settlement was going to take me awhile to get there--and it wasn't because of any problems with my custom-build Strokov-623 hovercycle.

Nope.

This time, it was the storm in back of me which was the problem. Did I forget to mention something? Life out here is no picnic.

Aside from the usual run-ins with what my mom and I call prairie bandits, we also have to deal with the usual hurricane-styled blows which Old Mother throws at us every month.

Some of these storms are unlike anything you would normally associate with hurricanes and thunderstorms--gathering from what I know from my host's memories. No, these storms pack a much larger punch and can last up to a week--even two--in some cases.

And it usually isn't healthy to remain out here.

Without the proper protection, many unfortunate souls can easily die: as the heat robs precious moisture from the human body.

So when you've lived out here as long as I have, it is vital that you wear the appropriate desert-style clothing. Special long pants, turtleneck shirts, tees, rugged socks, and desert boots are the name of the game.

Most travelers wouldn't be caught dead without such attire. The worst thing you have to worry about besides the storms are yellowback scorpions. These things are about a foot long when mature and have an 8-inch tail with a large stinger protruding from it. Despite its ungainly size, this critter is deadly--and is lethal within 3 weeks after being born. Anti-vetox is the standard anti-venom derivative, but on the surface, it is the most precious commodity for thousands of miles.

And as such, it is usually stocked and sometimes hoarded for obvioius reasons--seeing how I almost died from one such encounter when I was a little girl.

As for the storm itself...?

>Sigh<

I really hate racing in the desert. Don't get me wrong: I live for speed. But when you're talking about being out in the open and traveling The Highway at speeds of 150+mph, and you have a monster barreling down on you from the west...?

It doesn't...um...pay to stick around.

No sooner had I left my place, did the storm finally catch up. In most respects, it is a beautiful phenomenon which is usually captured with paints and canvases--portraits which normally fetch a pretty credit these days--only to be mounted on some rich stiff's mantle starside in Stratos City. (I don't like the rich for what they are. To me, they are a drain on society, and only serve to remind people like me why the poor and struggling castes of the surface continue to rebel from time to time against all odds. To me, money is to be spent on the living and on anything which will further your goals to survive in life. If it isn't used, it's a waste.)

Outracing it would be a test of my mettle and superb skills as a pilot of the Viper X-1. Of course, I gauged it to be about 20-30 minutes behind me, but the leading edge of the storm usually stretches for tens of miles ahead of the core front. And as such, it likes to play with anything caught out in the middle of nowhere.

(Fine time for me to go hotdogging out on The Highway this morning. But I did promise my brother I would get him a Type III power convertor! And Calis is expecting me at any rate. No need to let the old man down so early in the day.)

I poured on the speed--opening up the afterburners on this old cyc--proud of the job that both me and Calis did on the old girl. She may look like your average Harley Davidson, but it's what is under the chassis which counts the most: A Havoc-4 fuel injection/turbo-charger.

Of course, I should've known that the G-Shock acceleration would've done me in at this point. I never worry about having to wear a helmet--let alone a seatbelt.

But I wish I did!

The damned machine almost dumped me on my ass--as I took off like a rocket!

In mere seconds, I screamed across the open expanse clocking in at an impressive 608 miles per hour.

I sustained a myriad of bumps and bruises in the excitement, but I came through okay.

As a result, the 450-mile journey ended much sooner than I thought.

Shark's Bay was just visible over the rise.

Down the inclining gultch I went, and I motored for the town settlement--with the storm licking at my back.

Of course, I still need to get Calis to install a seatbelt and give me a helmet after this ride! (tee-hee!)

Isis