ABILENE, Tex. — When I was growing up, I never rode dirt bikes. I didn’t play sports. I was never a daredevil. Yet I’ve always managed to keep my mother stressed and worrying around-the-clock — that’s because I’m a storm chaser.

Storm chasing is equal parts science, adventure and adrenaline. When I worked as a TV meteorologist, nobody cared if my forecast was one or two degrees off. But when it comes to storm chasing, fractions of a degree can mean the difference between sunshine and destructive storms.

The past week has been an incredibly active one for severe weather. In six days, I’ve intercepted seven tornadoes at close range. Thursday’s twisters in Central Texas near Abilene caused damage and non-life-threatening injuries, but no fatalities were reported.

And I’ll be chasing again Friday. Here’s what happened on Thursday’s chase.

The forecast

I awoke in Garden City, Kan., around 6 a.m. Thursday. I had chased a rotating thunderstorm the night before but didn’t see much other than a weak “landspout” tornado, which is different from most twisters. It spins up from the ground and isn’t associated with preexisting rotation at cloud level.

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The National Weather Service Storm Prediction Center had advertised a Level 2 out of 5 risk of severe weather in Texas with an attendant low chance of tornadoes. There wasn’t much shear, or a change of wind speed and/or direction with height, to spin storms.

But there was something else — an “outflow boundary,” or the leading edge of cool air exhaust from the previous day’s storms. I banked on that leftover boundary, situated north of Abilene, Tex., giving rise to some spinning storms.

Positioning

I left my hotel around 7 a.m., bound for Texas. It was a seven-hour drive. By the time I got there, I was exhausted. I napped in a gas station parking lot in Aspermont, Tex., until shortly before 3 p.m.

By the time I awoke, billowing cumulus clouds were towering high overhead. Convective initiation, or the popping of thunderstorms, was imminent. The Storm Prediction Center issued a severe thunderstorm watch. Game on.

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Several thunderstorms attempted to fire. Some fizzled. Eventually, three dominant storms emerged.

The southern one looked the best — and had the most uninterrupted “inflow,” or warm, moist air from the south. But there was little to spin it.

The northernmost storm would have the best spin — but it seemed to be struggling.

Although the middle storm wasn’t particularly impressive either, a mini-thunderstorm that broke off the southernmost storm was about to collide with it. I assumed that the absorption of the additional thunderstorm would help the middle storm strengthen.

Intercept 1

I was in Rule, Tex., when I made the call to bet on the middle storm. I had been trying to play between two storms, but after reviewing one final radar frame, I decided to blast south. I passed through the town of Stamford and then raced down U.S. 277 bound for the town of Anson.

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Coming in from the north meant I had to “core punch,” or plow through the rain, hail and nastiness of the parent severe thunderstorm. Cars were pulled over as golf-ball-size hail pinged off my windshield. “Don’t hydroplane,” I thought as I pushed down the accelerator, hoping I could shave off a few minutes by traveling quickly on straightaways.

Sirens were blaring by the time I got to Anson. I looked out my right window — tornado! But I wanted to get closer. After navigating through the town center, I headed west on Highway 180. Police had blocked off the roadway to westbound traffic, but they let me through once I explained that I was a meteorologist.

A tornado shaped like a stovepipe hovered three miles, then two miles, then a mile to my west. It was feeding off streamwise vorticity, or horizontal spin, from the remnant boundary. The tornado gobbled up that spin and tilted it into the vertical. I watched as the twister performed an elegant dance, morphing from the stovepipe shape into more of a rope in spectacular fashion.

What happened next was memorable. While the funnel near the cloud base was dissipating, the tornado actually strengthened at ground level, with a prominent roar. That’s not terribly uncommon; sometimes a circulation intensifies when the funnel is stretched at the end of a tornado’s life cycle.

Intercept 2

After that tornado dissipated, I headed south toward Hawley, which is about 12 miles north of Abilene — approaching from the west. Another funnel hung out my left window — I knew the storm could produce another tornado.

Before long, a massive tornado was on the ground. I navigated dirt roads until I was about a half-mile away. Its roar was ominous. I eventually retreated a quarter-mile east. A baseball-sized hailstone nearly hit me as I was snapping photos outside, but I was wearing a helmet.

The tornado lasted upward of 15 minutes. It leveled several structures, sending debris flying into the air.

Even after that tornado lifted, debris still fell for about 10 minutes. A small stick hit my forehead.

Intercept 3

A third tornado occurred with the storm — though most people didn’t see it.

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I was driving south of Hawley on Highway 83 when I noticed dust being stirred up ahead of me. I slowed down and opened the window — a peculiar hissing sound was audible.

It was a weak tornado — probably just an EF0 — the lowest intensity on the 0-to-5 Enhanced Fujita Scale, but a tornado nonetheless. It didn’t even have a condensation funnel, meaning it was mostly invisible. But it crossed the road barely 100 feet in front of me. I stopped to let it pass before continuing onward.

A memorable chase

Thursday’s chase was a memorable one. It’s tragic that homes were destroyed and at least minor injuries were reported.

As scientists, we love watching equations and simulations come to life — but the human impact is painful to witness.

More storms are in the offing Friday, too. I write this from a hotel room in Abilene. In about an hour, I’m heading west to chase once again. Storm season continues — and the chase does, too.

Matthew Cappucci is a regular contributor to The Post’s Capital Weather Gang and a meteorologist for the weather app MyRadar, which is funding his storm chasing.

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