Fifteen Percent Chance

"Wasn't expecting it to start raining this early," I said as the three of us were approaching Williams Blvd. in the dark. "The guys who didn't show up must have better radar than we do," remarked Jeff as the raindrops got larger and more frequent. Indeed, the forecast had been calling for nothing more than a 15% chance of rain until at least 9 am, and the 5:30 am radar had seemed to support that. Yet, there was no denying that the three of us, Jeff, Darren and I, were about to get good and wet anyway.

We continued on, water spraying in our faces, straining to see through cloudy glasses, and soon I could feel the water level in my shoes beginning to rise. I knew it couldn't be the larger line of rain ahead of the approaching cold front, since that was still way to the west of the city, so these had to be some scattered showers popping up ahead of the front. It was still just as wet, but at least it wasn't too cold.

We turned back at The Dip, which has become standard protocol whenever the turnout is low and the weather sketchy. With the levee bike path now soaked with water, it was sometimes hard to tell if it was still raining since there was a steady stream of wheel spray from the rider ahead anyway. It didn't matter. We were already soaked, so it was no longer a question of how wet we'd get. There was just one thing that might mess up what was left of the ride.

It went flat pretty fast. We were only eight or so miles from home, and it wasn't really raining at the time. I stopped and spun the wheel, brushing my un-gloved hand over the tire to feel for whatever might still be embedded in the tread. "Ouch!" This time it wasn't just a little shard of rock or glass. It was a tiny piece of metal, and it took a while to pry it out of the tire even with the help of my pocket knife. I pulled out the CO2 inflator and filled the tire, only to have it freeze onto the skin of my hand. It was the one day when I'd forgotten to put on my gloves, and now I had what amounted to freezer burn on my hand. Soon enough we were back up to speed, which in this case was 22-23 mph, and we even came upon a section of road near the city that was still dry. "Great," I thought, "I may dry out a little bit by the time I get home." 

No such luck. As I made my way down Oak Street the sky opened up again and I rode the last couple of miles through Carrollton in the rain. I was glad I'd made it out, since the rest of the day was definitely going to be wet, but as I stood there in the basement dripping water and wiping down the bike I couldn't help but think, "Fifteen percent chance of rain, my ass."