By June 2, 2006

Nor rain, nor snow, nor baking heat can stop the motorcyclist

I zipped out on my bike today to visit Lady Jaye, who was taking a break between shifts downtown. We wanted to grab a bite, so I motored up the highway to meet her in Super Suburbia™, where all of our favorite restaurants are. The temperature was about 86 when I left, with the heat index rounding us up to about 90 – 92. I wasn’t particular nervous about the heat, having made a pilgrimage downtown in similar conditions last week in full leather. I put on my perforated leather pants, jacket, my riding boots, and my new textile-mesh-leather gloves. Underneath I wore “Wickers” brand wicking leggings and a compression-fit wicking long sleeve top from Old Navy, of all places.

The ride out was actually quite pleasant. It was a bit overcast and windy. It was almost not-hot riding along at 80MPH on the freeway, and the little gusts of colder air the flared up my helmet every now and then was a welcome change from the heat. The temperature was less tolerable when I got off the freeway and onto the surface street. Standing still at lights coupled with the radiant heat from the pavement made me glad I wasn’t too far from my destination.

Lunch was yummy, and after kissing my gal goodbye I stopped to get gas. I had my first fuck up filling up today — the pump didn’t shut off when my tank was full, and I dumped about a quarter gallon of gas out before I realized what was happening. I pushed my bike beyond the already evaporating spill and started up. I rolled back onto the highway and was anticipating my ride home when a bug hit my visor.

Except it wasn’t a bug. It was a rather large raindrop. Followed by another. And another.

This was the first time I’d been caught far from home in the rain. I’d half-hoped it would happen, and I’m glad that it was on a warm day like today as opposed to when I was riding in 40 degree temps. I gave the bike a little bit of gas and laughed out loud. I was surrounded by the scent of fresh rain, and then I was subjected to a full-on downpour. I was stuck behind a Wal*Mart semi-truck driving 70, but I was hesitant to change lanes in the rain without knowing who was in the right hand portion of the two lane highway. A long snake of cars grew behind the Wal*Mart truck until we had enough, and myself and four cars passed him. I gave him a little hornage for good measure.

Richmond is very much like Maryland when it rains. Everyone loses their shit and slams on their brakes. As such, it took me about ten minutes to get home from the offramp. All the while I was caught in a soaking rain, and nervous about getting rear ended. A truck full of lawn car guys drove by and I got a round of applause and a war-whoop from one of the passengers. Aside from being apprehensive about the cars around me and worrying about my bike getting wet, I actually enjoyed my first time out in a storm.

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Posted in: motorcycling

3 Comments on "Nor rain, nor snow, nor baking heat can stop the motorcyclist"

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  1. drfaulken says:

    Something weird happened on this entry — someone posted a random comment of gibberish (how fitting). All of the poster’s LJ entries were also gibberish, somewhat like the automated crap you read in a spam message that tries to get through online filters.

    Anyway, I considered keeping it, but then I drew upon my years of watching pulp movies. Two voices guided my actions:

    “I don’t want Mr. Bronson hearing about this… he’ll think I’m getting soft. One of his principles has always been: if you don’t understand it, get rid of it… a stitch in time, so to speak, so… stitch this mut up Phil.”

    and

    “Nuke it from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.”

    so, good riddance to bad rubbished. Reported as spam and banned from future comments.

  2. ca11away says:

    “If you were to take care of the problem yourself, you’d show the outfit your the kinda man we want…”