September 13, 2008
I woke up this morning to the pitter-patter of rain on my window – something I've grown accustomed to in the passed few weeks. After crawling out of the goose down feathers of my comforter, I assembled my rain riding attire. Mounting my bike, I was off on a little jaunt, sliding tires around the drenched corners of Boulder's bike paths.
I don't get smarter as I get older, I just get cleverer. I came to my secret passageway to the Reservoir, and saw what looked like a pool of peanut butter. So I rode through it. I can liken it to riding through wet pavement, because I have done that before by mistake. For those of you who haven't been caked with pavement or cement or asphalt, it was just like riding through chunky nut butter. Literally – the same colour, consistency, and you even get rocks to act as the peanut chunks. You move forward for a tire rotation or maybe two, and then come to a hurdling stop. Your wheels and frame become one.
I dismounted and stood there in the pouring rain with a hand on my hip looking at my 40 pound buttered bike. To my left was a woman in a sparkling white SUV talking on her cell phone... She gave me a look which read, "look at this nut job covered in nut butter!" Then she quickly hit the lock button on her car, just to ensure I wouldn't come banging on her door and flinging mud all over the place. But this is why I say I'm clever: I hoisted the ridiculously heavy peanut butter and jelly bicycle onto my shoulder and began running toward the beach of the reservoir, Baywatch style. But alas! It's a reservoir, there are boats and water-loving boating people like their boats clean, so they spray the 'dirty water' off with cleaner water, so there are hoses everywhere! I snagged one and jet blasted my bike, but didn't have much affect. The mud was on there like cement, because I know how that is. After 15 minutes of spraying the bike I feel that I am ready to be part of the pit crew in Portland, Oregon.
My trusty rain gear kept me dry inside, but as I cruised passed all the skinny-minis running along the Reservoir, mud was catapulting this way and that. The skinny-minis dodged me like bullets as if they thought I was the sand-woman who emerged from the deathly mucks of the algae-laden reservoir.
I made it home, picked up my bike to rack it and heard water streaming within the tubes of the frame. I guess it's a sign that I should give it a little love before riding it again later today.