The bug that cooled my forehead.

50 miles outside of Palm Springs along the 10 East.  A startlingly cool wet sensation smacked my forehead, splattering a little on my glasses, but nestling itself on my lower forehead area above my glasses rim and below my helmet shell.  MMmmmmm, I checked it out a couple times in the lone left side mirror.  I think I could make out what looked like long legs, and remains of a soft fuzzy body.  I left it there unwiped until I forgot it was there and whilst it remained forming a symbiotic relationship with my furrowed brow, for the duration of my 7 hour trip from LA to Phoenix.

     I was a flapping yellow circus tent.  Dawning a bright yellow rain poncho that I'd bought the night before, anticipating the morning ride.  This thing held nothing together, only knowing how to flap like the dickens, like we were signaling for help on a deserted island.  Everyone for miles could see me coming and going, I'm sure.  And that's exactly how I wanted it: morning LA drivers, first rainy day in a while, crazy, disoriented, wild, and I had to be just as loud and obnoxious as the lot of them if I was going to survive headfirst into that battlefield:  LA drivers.

      I was averaging approximately 70 miles per hour, and that is even given the 60mph speeds I was maintaining through an hour of rain, as I left LA in one of its last spring dumps before summer.  Or so I'm assuming one of its last, with the ferocity that it came.  It was quite the skyfall.  Cleansing the streets.  I remember being like, eh, this isn't bad, and then 15 - 20 minutes before I got out of San Bernardino, the sky got its darkest, and the rain got its thickest, and my glasses got their foggiest, and I was guessing where the road was at times.

     I couldn't wait for the first dry gas stop. East of Palm Springs. Sun shining. I shed the layers of plastic bag taped leggings, filling up a small bathroom trash can.  I took a brief moment to admire my Darwinian acuity, ascending victoriously from the freeway front lines.  And then I was back to counting the miles and hours till my destination.  Beating the clock is what it's all about on a ride like today:  Evening class, a long ride, a rainy trip, averages and analyses.

Long trip short:  7 hours later I rode the sidewalk along the right side of the house to the front door where I park my bike.  I was home.

All wrapped up and ready to ride.
I left Phoenix for LA  Friday afternoon, wearing only my jean vest and my jeans, "packing light" I said.  After all it was in the 90's, and I was not anticipating needing to check weather forecasts at all.   However lucky I am, my woman was kind enough to dress me up with some warm clothes, and help tape the plastic bags around my legs.  Not to mention, she got up earlier than me and made coffee and had cereal set out.  

Kicking back at a sunny gas stop.

The remains of the rains strapped to my guitar.  Yes that's what the tall plastic wrapped thing is.  My number 1 excuse for a sissy bar.

Poncho melted to my pipe.