Only The Hardcore

This morning's commute warrants at least a mention. It's been raining pretty hard overnight, and when I got up to read for an hour at 2:20, the wind was howling through the trees and the wind chimes were really singing. By 3:30 it had calmed down, I turned the light off and went back to sleep til 5:15 and when I woke up, the wind had picked up again, it was still coming down pretty good, but I decided to go for it anyway. With full rain gear (Showers Pass jacket, rain pants, helmet cover, Potenza booties and winter gloves), I set off. I usually count bikes coming at me in the morning, and typically see 3 or 4 most of the year, but from mid April through the end of May, I usually see anywhere from 15 - 20. That doesn't include the flotilla of bikes coming off the ferry. This morning, I counted a total of TWO bikes, and when I got to the ferry, instead of the massive herd, I saw maybe a half dozen bikes moving south.

Only the hardest core of the hard core were out there this morning, braving the elements. I guess I must have become one. My wife called me a "goof". I'm not sure, but I think she meant it in a good way.

In the Starbux downstairs, people were talking about how miserable it was. I had a grin from ear to ear, and had to explain to one guy that I'm just a little kid who liked to play in mudpuddles and never really grew up.

When I grow up, I think I want to be a little kid.