November 21, 2003

• I am a beautiful and unique snowflake.

  Maybe.

  So, because of the way my mind works, it was a good thing that I made an appointment for the mechanic in Ballard to look at my car on Friday, because it would mean that I could take the car there Thursday night, leave it, and ride my bike back across town along the Burke-Gilman trail. Yay!

  As I was preparing to do this, I thought, "Maybe it'll rain." And then I thought, "Yah, it probably will, and I'll get cold and wet, but who cares? It won't be all that big a deal." So I wore my yellow-and-reflective raingear jacket, and off I went in the car, with the bike in the back.

  Fill out little envelope at the mechanic, put the key in it, drop it in the slot.

  Eat the banana I brought, hop on the bike, off I go.

  It was cold, and there was a little bit of that pre-rain rain you see a lot in Seattle. No biggie. I stopped under the Aurora bridge (on the Adobe campus, as a matter of fact), to pet a cat that obviously belonged to one of the houseboats there. Gazed across Lake Union, inky black reflecting halogen.

  Pedaled on, took a tiny detour at Gasworks Park to see another vantage point of inky black reflecting halogen. Cruise through the U-district, U-village, wave a friendly hello to Omni and the new Apple Store (I'm such a nerd). It's about midnight by now, and I'm about a third of the way home.

  It starts raining. REALLY raining. I stop under the bridge there, where the trail turns into a sort of little valley. Hang out for a little while, adjust my helmet and my gloves, that sort of thing. Drink some water. It's still raining. I decide to wait until my heart rate slows to resting, and then I'll move along.

  That eventually happens. The rain has let up a tiny bit, but not really all that much. My pants are getting progressively more soaked. There's a lot of downhill grade at this point, so I'm zooming much faster than I really should be, given that it's dark and raining and the fall leaves are plastered to the asphalt. But it's exhilarating.

  Finally I get to the place where the trail passes over Sand Point Way. I'm thinking, "If it gets much colder, this rain will turn to snow." And then I see, illuminated by the streetlight, snow.

  It's coming down all over the place. I can't see the lake to my right; the snow has sucked all vision away. My pants are now totally soaked with rain and melted snow. The cold feels like a tiny pin-prick, but all over the top of my leg, all at once. But it's still exhilarating.

  I crank on up to 97th NE, and pause for a while on the bench, under the tree, watching the snow fall. It'll be a while before I start shivering, and when that starts, it's off to 112th NE, to walk the bike up the hill. In the snow.

  • 4:53 am
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