Reading the Signs

It started pouring down rain just after halfway on my ride home yesterday and I began to think that the message was to not go out on the Thursday night ride; I even got a flat tire at 6:15 at the bottom of MLK and Madison, a good half hour walk home or 10 minutes at least to change the tire in the dark plus another 15 minutes uphill, meaning I’d never make it to Westlake Center in time; but as it turned out, I think, what the Universe was trying to tell me was not to take the trailer on the Saluki, because no sooner did I pull the panniers off the bike, undo the brake straddle cable, and pull out a spare tube, did a bus pull up and the driver even waited to establish eye contact with me before he didn’t pull away but rather, let me load my rig on first and then make a second trip to the curb to retrieve my bags and then, too boot, didn’t balk when I told him that my wallet with my U-Pass was in my handlebar bag; no sooner did all that transpire that there I was, home safely with plenty of time to wonder about what it all meant before drying out and deciding that since the rain had all but stopped and since the clothes that I needed—my gloves and gaitor—were dried out, it made sense to at least ride down to the meet-up and see if anyone else would show, and at first, it seemed like me, Sketchy, and Rogelio were going to be it, but before you knew it, many of the usual suspects appeared and some 16 or so, including Lee with the trailer set out to Ballard and only got separated once before sustenance at the Lock and Keel, wood with the fubar in Freelard, and fire at Gasworks Park, all of which apparently communicated the Universe’s message: “Ride.”