Clouds hang heavy in the sky, plump with a rain which contemplates the opportunity to hurl itself towards the Earth below. I get the sense that we wait for each other, the Rain and I; the rain relishes the opportunity to soak my clothes and skin, seeking to corrode my resolve while I cherish the opportunity to prove to myself that it will not be shaped by such things.
As a kid, I had an illustrated book of Aesop’s Fables. This time of year, I’m often reminded of one fable in particular, that of the Wind and the Sun. As the tale goes, the two are in the midst of an argument over which is the stronger when they spot a traveller on the road below. The Sun suggests that whichever of them can cause the traveller to take off his cloak will be declared the winner. The Wind blows and blows with all its might but the traveller only pulls his cloak closer. The Sun, on the other hand, beams with all its yellow glory, and the traveller soon finds it too hot for his cloak and discards it.
Aesop’s moral was that kindness is more effective than severity, but that sounds a lot like it would require introspection to really digest. Instead, I like to think of myself as the traveller and my resolve as the cloak; the worse the weather, the closer I pull it to me and the more determined I am to hold my course. In fact, this concept extends to any hardship in life; the greater the challenge, the stronger my determination.
So there we are, the Rain and I, waiting for each other; me with my cloak and the Rain with its severity. At this time of year, when the skies have turned grey but the chill hasn’t yet arrived to keep it company, I enjoy waiting for the rain to fall before embarking on my rides. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the questioning looks from the neighbors who descend from their homes in coats and hiding beneath their umbrellas for the journey from front door to automobile; they serve as further evidence that the public still has some distance yet to cover before understanding the Velominatus.
The rain pours down and in minutes soaks my clothes. Rain drops drip from the brim of my cycling cap; when I clench my fist, water steams from the fingers of my gloves. The roads are soaked; both the rain and traffic cast debris towards the gutters. My path crosses between the two and the grit and dirt afloat in the rain water are flung onto my machine and body.
When I return home from the ride, the evidence of my journey is carried in my clothing which is heavy with water and debris. Overshoes and knee warmers, once removed, reveal my Flemish Tan Lines via the clean skin beneath.
Perhaps Flanders is a place not defined by the borders between people, but between wool and flesh. Vive la Vie Velominatus.
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Frank, it looks like your bike has thrown a con rod through the block, and puked it's guts all out over the road.
Your roads are filthy. Even when I get a Flemish tan, it's brown, not black. City folk have to tolerate all sorts of weird crap.
@mcsqueak
so why did u stop commuting? the route is only getting more fun now. certainly more fun than the trainer. and this is before it actually turns into cold dark rain.
Saturday:
Gear on, The Pisashita dolled up with shitty Crud fenders, of which the front has snapped off last rainy season just aft of the caliper from a minor glove snag while wiping away worse crud than will clear Belgiquely, and the rear a ziptie pulled clean through the 'tough resilient plastic' at the merest mention of snugging. Minor cursathon at favourable reviews, a glance outside reveals the factuals: thorough self fuckathon to ensue, fenders, however useless/useful, to play minor role. Gloriously metric reality of 'rain, sometimes heavy, 25 to 50mm' greets me and the hapless Pisashita the instant we step beyond the threshold. Fully 3 minutes into the excursion and waterproof/breathable has met its match and become 'sodden/waterlogged', but what the fuck! it's also relatively warm so who gives a shit.
The deluge seems to repel all but the hardiest motorists, so the stinging rebukes of nothing but liquid from the sky assail me. Exactly 0 roadies cross my path, and I get back to Chez Star after 90 minutes feeling lightly demolished, extremely satisfied, and vaguely puzzled: really? I'm the only local rider able to handle these conditions? I'm fucking OLD for chrissake.
Sunday:
Gear up, this time properly capped against extreme helmet drippage, and sporting kit I know doesn't repel water but might still be reasonably insulative given the predictions of strongish winds and rain. Head off, wet roads, decent spray, nothing from the sky, getting mighty fucking warm. 25 km in, clearly a tail/crosswind, a few lone riders encountered, always going the other direction. I begin to feel oddly vicious, bloodthirsty.
A group ride looms ahead and zooms by, comraderie evident via numerous waves and nods. 'Yessir, we're nutters too!' I bare my teeth in greeting, growling a bit, not yet 'truly' hungry for human flesh, and they mistake my vague clutches at them as returned greetings. My lonely rainseeking pilgrimage continues uninterrupted, save a brief desire to whip a suicidal u-turn to latch onto them, then test their mettle into the headwindy bleak bluster. Some time later, a motorpaced duo zing by, and I regret they aren't going my direction, so I can Belgie them in Farzanian style. 'Jump on? Fuck yeah!' I'll ask them if it's cool after I dispatch them in the sprint to the 'slow to 30' sign. Then I'll chew on a face or two. The moto pilot looks plump and juicy...
Ride 3 overheated hours, completely prepared to crush myself through torrential downpours, and of course: rain does not come. Not until The Pisashita and I are safely ensconced in Chez Star do the first drops fall, and today my dehydration was made very clear by my failure to visit the pissoir until 6:00 pm. Does this explain my desire to kill and consume? Only one bottle cage on Pisashita...just enough liquid to wash down a liver, maybe a bicep, certainly a brain or spinal column. With sriracha. Oh yes.
No.
No.
No.
I adore shit weather. It's a proper tan when you have to scrub the first layer of skin off to remove the dirt. Superstorm sandy came through this area last week and I of course had to ride through it. Was one of the most amazing experiences ive had on a bike caused by mother nature. 100+kph winds and pelting rain. Only worry I had was being blown off the roads and into the river. Not sure what it's called when road debris flies up and lacerates the legs, but those and a Flemish Tan go hand in hand
@mcsqueak
Squeek, I've gotta ask...why are the two uncovered sections askew?
@starclimber
Ah, poetry. Music to mine ears.
Pack of filthy fricken devos. Never seen more pics of dirty shaved legs in my life.
That, however may be from lack of looking for such things.
@mcsqueak
Give that man the +1 badge. Superb.
@mcsqueak
WAY bitd, I used to be a bike messenger in Portland but I lived across the river in Vancouver. I would have an hour commute and then spend eight hours on the bike and then another hour home. Nothing like getting paid to train and I was freaking fast but in the wet winters of Portland it got pretty old being soaking wet and cold all day and then having an hour commute home. I must confess that most of December the bike stayed at work and I took the bus.
Love it, Frank! It's indeed awesome when most people act as if being outside longer than a few seconds might kill them...and you roll out on your race bike with a big smile on! Only makes me enjoy the HardMan Saddle Time that much more.
Great photos of some Flemish Tan Lines! Tuesday morning and I'll all excited looking at dirty pegs on the internet. Vive la Vie Velominatus.
Cyclops - that's a sweet shot, my friend!
Crazy weather for us in central NC. I was riding in summer kit just two weeks ago with 29* temperatures and sun. Now it's grey, overcast and around 8*. I don't mind and in fact like this weather, but it does take me a week or two to adjust; this switch was fast! And now the early darkness...