I made it in good time, and entered the trail,
pace steady and smooth.
What was that? A raindorp? Two? Three?
Many drops soon fell, a steady shower,
turning to a deluge at times.
I was stuck.
Too far to turn back;
take shade under trees somewhat,
press on ahead – maybe it will stop!
But alas, no such luck.
I made it up to the University overpass,
finally turning around to head back
the (now wet) way I came.
Getting more soaked by the minute,
What a perfect experience for an
eccentric middle-aged writer to enjoy.
Riding a bike in a summer rainstorm –
like a kid again. No matter –
Youth still lives inside me,
appreciates that exhilaration of
flying down a street soaking wet,
trailing water streams off bike tires,
clothing, pedals and even hair.
What watery summer joy,
to abandon all care and press on;
I see a
stream of car headlights coming,
do they see this apparition on wheels,
laughing and pedaling through sheets of gray?
How jealous they must be. Poor things.
Thank goodness I made it back without wiping out.