Yesterday’s short gravel ride was done in the hopes of doing a longer ride in cooler temps and less wind today. I got both, so a 41 mile road ride was planned. There were some storms in the forecast, but thus far the radar had looked clear. Let’s go!
Of course, I’ve been fooled by the weather radar before… and it appeared that it was about to happen again.
The winds were picking up, the clouds were darkening and I knew that I had to make a decision soon about whether to continue on, or to abort the 41, do the Better Than The Trainer Loop and return to the crib ASAP.
I aborted and putzed out a quick 25 mile road ride passed the corn and yellowing bean fields, alternating between chasing and being chased by what appeared to be an oncoming storm.
BUT as bad luck would have it, it seems the storm just couldn’t commit and I never did get rained on and, it least in my area, we didn’t get anything but a few freaking sprinkles.
All day it looked like it could ballz out storm. Even 5 hours later when I took B-Man to MP’s soccer game (where he was a ball boy today) a rainbow even busted its fancy free self out.
But no rain? Nothing worse than weather that can’t commit! As my late grandmother used to say in her best Samuel L. Jackson “shit or get off the pot mother fucker.” OK, she NEVER dropped an f-bomb in her life, but the idea of her doing so makes me laugh.
