I am never again going to feel guilty about driving to work when the forecast calls for rain.

I don’t ride my bike to work a lot. Okay, hardly ever. Almost never, really. So close to never as to make no difference. I mean to, and every spring as soon as the weather breaks I hop on my bike and ride to work at least two or three times a week for maybe, oh, two weeks, just until the novelty wears off. But after being cooped up all winter, those two weeks are sheer bliss.

And then I become monumentally lazy. Literally. When the monument to lazy is built, and it’ll be built when we’re damn good and ready, so don’t rush us, my lazy butt will feature prominently, you can be assured of that. I start out biking to work with the best of intentions: Oh, this’ll be so good for me and It’s really much better for everyone if I don’t clog up the streets and burn all that gas driving to work but really, driving is so much easier that I can’t help but feel a lot better about driving to work, until I realize I’m sitting on my butt from the time I get out of bed in the morning until the time I go to bed at night, not getting any exercise at all.

And just about the time I realize that, the sky bursts into flame. It happens about mid-July. You know those film clips showing giant clouds of exploding gas arching above the surface of the sun? Sometimes it feels like those huge burning gas clouds reach us here on the ground in the summer. When that happens, the only place to be is inside with the air conditioning going full blast. That usually lasts until the end of August. Nobody goes outside until then except mad dogs and joggers.

So by the last week in August or first week in September I’m feeling pretty cooped up again and that’s about the time I get on my bike and start riding to work for about another week. Unless the forecast calls for rain. When there’s about a forty percent chance of rain or better, I usually chicken out and drive to work. I’m a weenie when it comes to rain.

But not, for some reason, this morning. When I checked the National Weather Service’s web site as I was drinking my morning cuppa, they were calling for a sixty percent chance of rain and I thought, Well, sixty percent’s not really all that bad. I can’t figure out now why I thought that. Maybe I was temporarily insane. Whatever the reason, I packed up my bags, climbed on my bike and rode to work with no problem. I was perfectly dry when I got there. And it didn’t rain all day while I was at work. No. It waited until four thirty on the dot to start raining, and it rained on me all the way home.

Truthfully, it wasn’t all that bad, a very light, if steady, rain. I hardly got wet. But I am, as I said, a weenie about rain and will probably chicken out when there’s any chance at all from now on. Any sympathy for me on this one? Any at all? No? Oh, well.

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