11 Aug 06
Gazing up at the mushroom cloud coming directly towards us, it looks like the world is about to end. A thick, black swirling mass of noise and destruction is heading our way and, in about three minutes' time, all hell will break loose. Right on the spot where I'm standing.
In the time it takes you to read this sentence, the air temperature drops 10 degrees. Tumbleweed and dust fly past my ears, as the meteorological monster sucks anything that isn't nailed to the floor up into its belly, like an angry weather god. We now have approximately two minutes to make good our escape.
According to weather reports, the approaching super-cell storm is armed to the teeth with hailstones the size of golf balls. Anything caught in its path risks serious injury - or worse.
For most sane individuals, getting caught in a storm like this would constitute extreme bad luck. However, for the group of American tornado chasers I'm here with, it is 'fun'.
That's easy for them to say - safely ensconced in two tons of Chevrolet van; it would take a large explosive device to blow that thing off the road. Meanwhile, I'm at the wheel of a bright red Mini Cooper S, complete with novelty bonnet stripes. Fashionable it may be, but will it save me from hurricane-force winds and deadly hail?
This is the question at the front of my mind, as I wrap my sweaty palms around the leather steering wheel and prepare to take off like a stabbed rat. If this thing catches up with me, it'll be more than my pride that gets damaged...
