Riding in the Rain

I'm aware that this blog is starting to take on a more serious tone. Don't worry, it won't last.

On Thursday, I ended up riding in the middle of nowhere through the rain. This was mostly due to the fact that the weatherman is a dirty liar. Whatever the reason, Mr. Ben Hallett and I wound up in the pouring rain on a wooden bridge some 14 miles from my home. At that point, there's not really much of a choice. We certainly couldn't set up camp under a bridge and wait for the rain to pass. This is because neither of us is a troll.

We had to ride back. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal. A couple years ago I did fifty miles through a tornado watch. (My dad will remember that one well.) It was one of the best days of my life.

But all of that was before I got hit by the truck.

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So on Thursday, something very weird happened. I became very, very tentative. Ask anyone who knows me: tentative is not my style. I miss all my jumpshots long. I sing frequently incorrect notes, but my entrances are always punctuated and aggressive. I don't stand for a long time over my putts. I'm going to overthrow you long before I bounce one in the dirt.

But there I was, wet and flanking a school bus; feeling legitimately frightened for the first time in probably six years. I watched my comrade speed on ahead, unfazed by the traffic. It's worth noting that his was actually the safer riding style.

There's only one thing to do now. I'm going to go fight a bear.