Rain

We’ve had a rainy week here in Seattle—no surprise, really, this being November in the Northwest.

As it is, though, pretty much every time I’ve gone outside since last Sunday, I’ve had to face the liquid elements. It’s not always—nor even usually—hard rain; typically, the precipitation is between a mist and a drizzle (although Tuesday last was a steady downpour.)

I don’t mind the rain; and I tell myself that again and again to make sure I’m convinced. I enjoy riding my bike in the wet, and it also keeps the riff-raff off the trail on my commute.

Lots of people, though, look fairly miserable; the drowned rat aesthetic pervades. Jen and I were out having a drink last evening, and looking around the pub, I couldn’t help thinking about mushrooms and mold as I observed the patrons.

Here’s the requisite broken record point: rain is much more annoying when you’re driving than when you’re on a bike. Granted, you get wetter on two wheels than in four, but you’re prepared for it. When I drive, I maintain the illusion that if I dart quickly in and out of the vehicle, I won’t get drenched. Consequently, I’m constantly getting soaked between front door and car door. On my bike, by contrast, I’m geared up as soon as I leave the house, so even though my plastic and wool take water, I stay relatively dry.

I try to stay out of conversations in which people complain about the weather; for one thing, the concept of “bad” weather confuses me. It’s not bad for the trees and plants, is it? And ducks love it, too, I’m sure.

I was prepared to stand on the wet sidelines today at Mimi’s soccer match, but I’ve just been offered a ticket to the Seahawks game. The part of the stadium I’ll be in is covered, so as long as I don’t drive, I won’t mind the rain at all.