Wet and Dry

Summer is over, the wet hath arrived. No matter the Equinox hasn't officially thrown it's veil, this is as abrupt a change as I've ever seen. Oh, I know it'll warm up again, and perhaps even flirt with 80 degrees over the next two or three weeks, but the leaf has fallen.

I haz a haiku!

Summer's fading light;
Colors in the Great Wheel turn
To Winter shadows

Three years ago I had convinced myself that I was bored with the gray and the rain here, and so I set out for drier climes. Eighteen months spent in the desert of the southwest (glorious as that landscape is, and I would recommend at least a visit to anyone!) wasn't the fix I had imagined, at least not a permanent one. New Mexico's rainstorms are wonders, at times blinding sheets obscuring the far side of the road and rushing through suddenly seething arroyos, but they tend only to taunt and then fly away, their footprints left to dry within minutes in the aridity. Rarely are such tempests seen in the Willamette Valley; our rain tends to hang around like an amiable deadbeat. It should be included as a character in the credits of Portlandia, should they ever bother to show it actually raining. Have they ever shown it raining? If they haven't, they are omitting a rather essential facet of authenticity. Anyway, the rain needs an agent.

Soon the time will change and I'll be riding the bike from work in the dark. I always look forward to this. For one thing, “Bike Town” notwithstanding, the number of cyclists (and pedestrians too) braving the paths and lanes tends to drop fairly significantly, and call me selfish but I mind that not at all. For another, night riding just simply has an added element of intrigue and an enhanced sense of adventure. Most adult Americans haven't ridden a bicycle since childhood (and this is sad but it's not my point this time around) and so can't fathom the idea of themselves commuting via bicycle, and doing so after dark?? Madness! I enjoy being a member of a minority, especially one perceived as dangerous (even if only to himself). And honestly, riding a bicycle on the city streets at night is more dangerous – just not overwhelmingly so – and so there's an element of derring-do. “You rode your bike in this??” is a phrase I used to hear quite a lot, and I would have to keep myself from placing my hands on my hips and throwing my head back in a heroic guffaw. Well, yes, once or twice I failed to keep myself from doing this, but I found that it ruined the effect, people seeming to prefer humble bravery. Bah. What's the point, then?

Approaching the rainy dark riding season, I'll have to visit the bike shop to replenish a few items. This year I'm buying a pair of shoe covers, because wet shoes suck. Also a helmet cover. Maybe a new rain jacket. Uh-oh, this is what always happens. Book stores and bike shops = bad juju for a light wallet. Damned economy. The missus instead wants me to spend money on work clothes. It's this sort of pragmatism that's the bane of the modern American marriage. Perhaps it's even proof of an indifferent Universe; if The Intelligence(s) truly wanted mortals to do the logical thing all the time, wouldn't s/he/they have made it more fun? Fuh.


Lates!