Hail no

Right now there are not enough bad things I can say about rain. Riding home in it once in a while is fun, twice is ok, three times and the weatherman needs to STOP @&*%#&@ DRINKING! Twenty percent chance of rain, my eye.

Not a mile from work and Mother Nature throws a couple hailstones at me, so I ditch over to the nearest canopied building. [Ten minute wait] In a steady downpour, I set back out, and within 20 feet I am soaked to the bone. Hey, wet is wet.

Another two miles and you can guess what happens at the railroad crossing.

Puddle after puddle after puddle, wetter and wetter and wetter I become.

Sweat drips into my eye - hmph. Can't tell the difference any longer.

At the corner of Nevada and Austin Bluffs, I pull up to stoplight (red, of course) next to a Hummousine - at least four Hummers long. I glance over and smile, even though I cannot tell who's in there. My active imagination pretends it is Maria McKee, in town for a concert I somehow did not know about, and all she wants to do right now is offer me champagne and warmth in her big, long car. Reality tells me it a janitor at a local middle school who last week won the lottery and thinks I'm an absolute dolt for riding in the rain.

Home safe and sound. At least my pants didn't rip. I didn't bring a back-up, and we go commando in these shorts, people.