If you keep moving, the weather should always be behind you. Or at last that's what he always heard, or read, or made up. And small storms in the open can behave like big ones and be in your face quickly.
When he saw this herd of cattle he was not screaming about wanting to "tip em," but rather he was attempting to warn them of the impending storm coming. They wanted nothing to do with him.
A storm at home is welcome from the friendly confines of the lawn chair in the garage. Out under the big sky, with no cover is another story. Yet he loves it. The rush of excitement and fear is worth risk. He understands that some folks view any unnecessary risk as illogical. We each are in charge of our own next breath. He just wants it to be one of exhilaration, rather than a sigh.
He always considered the Midwest as inherently have a greater sense of roots for him. Of course, outside of a few brief interludes, that has been home. But even beyond him, large tracts of the wild west have appear to have no roots. Certainly no trees, and the soil just blows around so much over the years it becomes difficult to determine one acre from another. Not so back East, where the oaks grow long roots, firmly establishing the landscapes, and the people who count on them.
Just stop the rig, crack a cold one, and let it do it's thing. Nothing like a good storm to give a guy pause.
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