Wash and a rinse or two

When I looked out of the window at work this afternoon, a half hour before I was to head home, the rain came down in sheets. I crossed my fingers the clouds would squeeze themselves out before I mounted my bike to trudge up the hill towards home.

No luck.

I was washed and then pulled through the rinse cycle. The rain soaked my cycling pants after 5 minutes and the water poured off my helmet right into my eyes. Dressed in neon yellow with my red lights flashing and my high beams on, I was still leery of every car. The ones behind scare me the most, but today, with the gray shrouding me into invisibility, I was particularly cautious about the cars parked on the side of the road.

In cycling terms it's called getting "doored" when the driver, after parking her/his car, opens the door without checking her/his side view mirror. I have never been doored though I've had my number of close calls. On rainy days like this, no one is thinking about checking their side view mirrors. They just want to make it from their car to their destination without getting too terribly soaked. So, as I pumped my soggy self up Capitol Hill, I squinted into every parked car searching for a silohuette of a head or two.

Ten minutes into my ride, I felt cold water running down my back. My raincoat, neon yellow with extra reflection taped down the arms, has a pocket in the back and it was, unfortunately, open. With one hand I zipped it up and the waterfall down the back of my pants stopped, but not after my underwear soaked up the deluge. Equally soaked were my shoes and socks.

By the time I arrived home (a mere 25 minutes of pedaling) only the inside of my mouth was dry. I carried my dripping bike straight to the basement after kicking off my squishy shoes. When I came back upstairs, I could see the visible footprints of my wet socks on the bamboo floors. Rubin licked water off my pants the whole journey from front door to basement, wiggling himself in delight that I was finally home. I opened the back door to let him out and he looked at me as if I was crazy.

"It's wet out there!" he exclaimed and only after much coaxing did he venture out to relieve himself after 7 hours home alone. After I changed out of my wet clothes, the rain stopped and so I strapped on some dry shoes, leashed up the dog, and headed out for a walk. He needed it. Ten minutes later, the rain returned with a vengeance and even the dog, who would rather swim than do almost anything else, looked at me and shook in exasperation. By the time we got home I was as wet the second time as I was the first; the second rinse cycle of the day.

I'm not complaining. I wasn't cold or uncomfortable, just wet. The streets, aside from the too-fast-moving cars, were empty of people and our trail down to the lake and back up was meditative. It wasn't a hard rain, just one of those steady downpours that leave no dry spaces in between the drops. When we got home, Ann was just pulling up and she smiled when Rubin ran to her side. "You must be really wet!" she said and only after a moment did I realize she was talking to me.

Now we are both bundled in warm clothes with the heat on for the first time this fall. My hair is beyond curly, much like Rubin's, and he has even given up the need to play with a heavy sigh on his position underneath Ann's feet as she sits reading on the couch.

Weather like this is something I should be used to, but somehow it surprises me a little when it comes with such ferocity. The neighbor was out this afternoon clearing wet leaves from the gutters attempting to "empty the lake" as he described it forming at the end of our street. Now, with the gutters cleared, rivers of water are whooshing their way down the drains. Even with the furnace on, the music softly playing and the sound of the rain on the windows, I can still hear the water racing down the street.

I have tomorrow off though in the afternoon we are meeting up with friends for dinner and then a reading of Terry Tempest Williams from her latest book. We will miss the presidential debates, but I can think of nothing finer than listening to someone I truly admire. It's supposed to rain like this again tomorrow. It seems fitting. Perhaps we all need a good rinse cycle or two.