When the going gets wet, it's time for a cross bike

Fuck it.

I went for a ride at 3:30 today, even though it was drizzling. By 4:00 the drizzle had upgraded to downpour. Must have gotten its hands of some of the pro peloton's extra steroids because it was aggressive as hell.

But I didn't mind. I dusted off the Felt, donned the awesome pink Swobo jersey that the even more awesome Kerry Combs sent me, and set the Ipod to random shuffle. The rain was warm and refreshing. There were few cars on the road and no bikes other than yours truly. I started to get excited for cross.

It rained harder. Fuck you, rain! I don't care.

I dropped into the Wissahickon and noodled along Forbidden Drive getting muddy and messy and having a ball. Part of the fun was watching people pity me when in fact I was having a blast. The soundtrack didn't hurt, either. Ipod was in sync with the ride:

Passenger / Iggy Pop
Personality Crisis / New York Dolls
It's Not Unusual / Tom Jones
Time is Tight / Booker T. and the MG's
Make Mayan a Hawaiian / Southern Culture on the Skids
Whirlwind / Roxy Music
I Fought the Law / Dead Kennedys
Chinese Rocks / Johnny Thunders (may be the best song to hear in the rain ever)
Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head / Burt Bacharach (I shit you not)
Somebody put Something in my Drink / Ramones
Trouble Everyday / Zappa
Emperor's New Clothes / Sinead O'Connor

It's 6:15 now and birds sing outside my window. They're singing, "Hello sun! Welcome back! That sucker inside typing should have waited 2 hours to go ride."

Fuck you birds. That sucker inside is totally stoked that she rode in the rain.

I have accepted the weather. It is good.