I'd gone the whole summer without experiencing that classic Monsoon problem of suddenly finding myself driving down a river. But this evening, as I drove back from Phoenix into a gorgeous bank of thunderheads north of Picacho Peak, it happened. And I was terrified, since a two-lane.portion of interstate full of commuters and 18-wheelers, with the shoulder temporarily closed off, is the last place I want to be when I can't see. There was a bizarre dust fog at one point too, from the outflow. But once I made it to the exit and inhaled deeply from the vents, I felt reborn. I drove for a while on the frontage road till the storm drifted away, listening to A.R. Kane's Sixty Nine, the ideal soundtrack for passing through a temporary Lemuria.