Saturday, early afternoon, the weather radar indicated that the heavy rain had moved off and was falling where farmland used to be. That was welcome news; I had a couple of rats to kill in town and didn't want to experience the local traffic low viz conditions. I'd guess that fully 1/4 of the cagers in my town have no business being behind the wheel. The rest of them ain't that swift, either.
That said, I uncovered the Baby Shadow and snagged my gear. I donned the 3/4 helmet I wear when expecting rain and my denim riding jacket. I figured the armored jacket would be a better choice than Frogg Toggs, given the circumstances. I warmed up the Shadow while pulling on my gloves and off I went.
Putting through the neighborhood, I admired the varied sky. One of the clouds looked like it was considering spawning a tropical funnel but really wasn't expending much effort towards that end. As I crossed the bridge that spans Oso Bay I could tell that rain was falling in town, but didn't look like much from my vantage point.
There are times when rain appears to be far away but is actually fairly close. As I was attempting to maneuver my way into the Julio lane and get to my exit I found out just how close the rain was and just how hard it was falling.
It was close. It was falling hard, too. Not just hard, it was falling big; the raindrops were the size of pecans, fitting, in a county named,"Nuts (Nueces)", in Spanish. The looks I got from some of the cagers indicated that they too were thinking, "nuts", but they're cagers.
Once I turned off the feeder road, the rain abated. As I finished my rat killin' and pointed my wheel east, the rain rebated and poured upon the just, and upon the unjust, till I got home. It's been quite a while since I've been soaked to the skin while riding; musical accompaniment to the strip I did on the porch, would have been nice.
For the last couple of months, locals had been telling immigrants that," if we don't get a hurricane, September will be very wet".
Two Red Wings full of rainwater say the locals are on the mark.
That said, I uncovered the Baby Shadow and snagged my gear. I donned the 3/4 helmet I wear when expecting rain and my denim riding jacket. I figured the armored jacket would be a better choice than Frogg Toggs, given the circumstances. I warmed up the Shadow while pulling on my gloves and off I went.
Putting through the neighborhood, I admired the varied sky. One of the clouds looked like it was considering spawning a tropical funnel but really wasn't expending much effort towards that end. As I crossed the bridge that spans Oso Bay I could tell that rain was falling in town, but didn't look like much from my vantage point.
There are times when rain appears to be far away but is actually fairly close. As I was attempting to maneuver my way into the Julio lane and get to my exit I found out just how close the rain was and just how hard it was falling.
It was close. It was falling hard, too. Not just hard, it was falling big; the raindrops were the size of pecans, fitting, in a county named,"Nuts (Nueces)", in Spanish. The looks I got from some of the cagers indicated that they too were thinking, "nuts", but they're cagers.
Once I turned off the feeder road, the rain abated. As I finished my rat killin' and pointed my wheel east, the rain rebated and poured upon the just, and upon the unjust, till I got home. It's been quite a while since I've been soaked to the skin while riding; musical accompaniment to the strip I did on the porch, would have been nice.
For the last couple of months, locals had been telling immigrants that," if we don't get a hurricane, September will be very wet".
Two Red Wings full of rainwater say the locals are on the mark.
1 comment:
"listening" to you tell your stories, are so like sitting on the front porch of the story teller's home...sipping ice tea, barefoot, with a cat in my lap purring as I stroke her...all the while totally engrossed and involved with the story at hand...
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