It seems you can only tempt fate - or Mother Nature - only so many times before you run out of luck. Before I left the office, the radar showed no rain for 300 km in any direction. That's 180 miles for you non-metric folks.
Halfway through my energy-conserving, medium-speed cruise home, I idly watched a puffy cloud in the hazy sky gradually turn into a band of angry, black nastiness. I was watching for funnel clouds as I accelerated my bike in a panic-induced bid to beat the impending downpour home.
I knew I was cooked when, with about four kilometres to go, the temperature dropped noticeably in a few seconds. It was as if someone turned the air conditioner on full blast, and it gave me a newfound respect for the power of the weather in this part of the world. It also scared the dickens out of me. I rode even faster.
Five minutes later, the skies opened up and I reverted to drowned rat mode, picking my way through raging torrents and trying to avoid getting blown over by the wind. As I turned into my street, the rain stopped, the air got still, the sun came out, and the gray clouds gave way to a clear blue sky.
The perils of the bike commuter.
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