I had it all planned out. The forecast called for rain around 8 pm. The daytime temperatures would rise into the high 60s. It looked like a pretty awesome forecast for the first day of December.
I decided that I’d wear my old wind pants and a water proof jacket. They used to be a matching pair in the waterproofing department but the pants’ waterproofiness gave it up a long time ago.
I have been feelling a little under the weather lately. Despite the fact that I had all but taken four days off the bike, I had no oomph in my legs. This might have been attributable to the fact that my right foot is numb. The mysteries of the 59-year old male anatomy are without number. So to speak.
I rode Big Nellie to avoid re-aggravating my back. At least that part worked. I stopped after 1/4 mile to see why my speedometer was giving me a big 0. I know I had no oomph but did the speedometer have to mock me?
The ride in was pretty nice. The temperatures were in the 50s. On a conventional bike I would have been wearing shorts but on a recumbent I went with the long pants. You don’t want coldish air blowing up into your personal private area for 15 miles. You just don’t.
At the Belle Haven nest I spotted two bald eagles. This is the fourth time in two weeks so I think they have moved in. If true, we should have a baby or two in a few months. Along the way to work I saw Nancy (Two Sheds) Duley (HI!!!!), the Three-Step Runner, the Hoppy Guy, and the Trash Walker. I managed to get all the way to work without hitting anything or having anything hitting me. Success.
When I left the office rain had arrived. Early. Good thing I brought the long pants. At least I’d be warm. I covered the foam seat of my recumbent with a kitchen garbage bag. I was ready to do battle. Within a mile my glasses were so soaked that I could barely see a thing. And the cold rain water was passing through my old rain pants into my mountain bike shorts and, thanks to the garbage bag, the water was staying there. All the way home I felt like a toddler with a wet diaper. Squish. Squish. After a while it started to feel kind of nice in a totally inane sort of way.
One good thing about the rain was that there were no ninjas. I had all I could do to keep on the trail and not kill myself sliding on the wet leaves. South of the airport I heard “Hi, John.” It was Reba. She passed me swiftly uttering something the weatherman and homicide. She was wearing a rain jacket and lycra shorts. She was not about to slow down to chat. She was on a mission from God. Zoom. She had funky lights in her spokes that made her look like an amusement park ride at night. Bye, Reba.
As I rolled through Old Town another interesting thing happened. My brakes were useless. Oh, joy. The tourists must have been hanging with the ninjas. I made it through without hitting anybody.
The twisty part of the Mount Vernon Trail was carpeted in wet leaves. Lovely. Not only was it slippery but I was having a hard time making out the edge of the pavement. Must. Not. Crash.
I didn’t. Yay, me.
After getting inside the house I made a note to myself: next time I wear these pants, I’m bringing Desinex.