The cowardly lion had it rightWhen McWoodie sent out the email it sounded like a good idea. Some base miles on Saturday morning. As the day approached the days remained grey and it seemed like years since we had seen the sun. The forecast for our ride also lacked any reason for optimism, yet we hoped.
The night before the weather prediction was for a dry start followed by some light rain about halfway in. Five hearty souls departed under grey skies. We all seemed hungry for some brotherly bonding and we were willing to risk the rain.
At the south end of the lake the raindrops started tapping on our forearms. Rain jackets came out of pockets and we rolled on.
Buckle up El Chefe' styleThe rain let up but the temperature seemed to have dropped and I left my jacket on as we turned north. All seemed okay as we turned east and began the climb up McDonald's hill.
Now that we were committed to the longer route the rain picked up. The uphill warmed us but it was now a poker game and the weather raised the stakes again and now the rain was pounding.
The fun was over.
As if we needed something to make the ride even worse I was feeling particularly shitty and my poor comrades refused to let me drop so they were made even colder by slowing their pace to accommodate me.
Even Big John was grumbling.
Hard to imagine gruff words coming from that smiling faceAs we climbed the rain was pouring down the road making it look like we were riding upstream. After topping out on the backside of Cougar we descended the soggy road with the cold spray cutting into our shins. Fenders helped but the skies had us in the crosshairs. Three riders were climbing as we descended, they looked at us and turned around. "Smart," I thought to myself......
Soon we were on the Isle of Mercer and then after wringing thew water out of our gloves we set off across I-90 with the spray from the cars adding to the rain from above. All we wanted was to be done and we took the most direct route we could.
My torso was dry and warm enough but my hands had been cold and wet for an hour and now my feet were finally saturated. We began comparing this ride to other foolish epics, The Medina Marge ride, The Dunn Lumber Ride, Mt. St. Helens.
You are correct, we are older but no wiser.
Finally we stopped at FUEL for some warmth in the form of coffee. I tugged my gloves off and then my soggy liners. We each had a pile of wet laundry perched on our respective helmets. As I stood in line my extremities began the painful journey back to life. At one point my fingernails all felt like they were being squashed by ten miniature C-clamps.
We drank our refreshment and realized that time was the only thing between this moment in time and a hot shower. We cut short any further socializing and departed with atypical speed.
There were no short showers after this ride.