Surrendering to the Rain

The air was hot with sunshine and heavy with humidity, and biking to school on this particular day had felt a lot like riding through a warm sponge. The kids were safely in their classes after morning drop-off, and I had stopped to talk to my friend before tackling what I though would be another parching drive home. We were deep in conversation, talking about things that mattered, about the baby she is expecting soon and about our faraway families, about our kids and our hopes. It was the kind of conversation that I'll probably look back on as being important in our friendship, one that was honest and caring on both sides. It was the type of connection in friendship that makes time seem to slow for a few minutes.

Suddenly, without any consideration for our friendship moment, a cool wind blew in, and the clouds, which were approaching above the gentle, green mountains to the south, loomed large and charcoal gray. My friend and I were both car-less, and the storm was coming fast. We said our goodbyes and both took off. She hoofed it to the train station, harbouring the hope that she would be sitting under the shelter on the platform during the downpour, and I buckled little MJ into the trailer and started my 4k ride back to my house.

Since I have been biking, and outdoors so much more, I am noticing how I am much more affected by the weather than I used to be. I tend to dread biking on super-hot days, or rainy days because of how the heat or rain interferes with my plans to be comfortable. If I let my moods be determined by how I feel about the weather and how it affects my bike ride, (which usually consumes about an hour and a half or more each day), the weather could totally and completely predict my mood. But, I said, "If."

I peddled hard against the wind up the hill to the train station, and past the tracks down the big hill on Blaker street, towing Micah Jade behind me, but I couldn't outrun the rain. In my mind, I guess I'm Lance Armstrong, but my body? Well, my body is just me, no traces of Lance anywhere that I can find. I'm just not fast enough to outrun weather. The rain came down through the warm air and splashed in big cool drops on my hot skin. I had traveled about 1.5 k when I finally came to terms with the fact that there was just no way for me to make it home dry. So there I was, biking in the rain with a habitually ornery toddler in tow. I stopped to tell her that the rain was going to cool us off, and that we would be home soon. Surprisingly MJ, who has no qualms about screaming in the trailer all the way home, or really anywhere, seemed, after receiving my explanation, surprisingly willing to bounce along behind me in the rain without a single sound.

The explanation I had given to MJ soaked into me as well, and as I wrapped my mind around the fact that I would be riding in the rain, the expectation of comfort washed off of me with the heat. I rode the narrow streets with little, wooden postwar houses on stilts and the rain poured down on me. I crossed the big road, and then passed the other elementary school on my way to the greenbelt. Everywhere I looked, the rain drops were drop-drop-dropping on the hot, black bitumen (asphalt) of the road, and on the warm, gray sidewalk in front of me. The air that had been yellow with Sunshine and humidity was now cool blue-gray with rain.

While I continued my journey, the rain came down so hard and in such intensity that the water rushed through the vents on my helmet into my hair. By the time I reached what is my favorite part of my ride in any weather, I was completely drenched and totally refreshed. As I rode past the duck pond, I heard the memory of my children yelling, "sorry duckies, no bread right now. Maybe later." The ducks quacked noisily above the pitter-patter, and turtles poked their heads out of the water to see what the commotion was all about. The bull rushes swayed in the gentle breeze, bowing to the rain, and at the dam, cheerful muddy water peacefully trickled over into the creek, making its way from my house to the Pacific. The mountains that encircle my neighborhood rose protectively before me, the rain quenching the dry, green thirst of their gum trees. As I made the last turn toward my home, I listened to the wind; I listened to the trees dancing happily around me, to the ducks and the bull rushes, to the constant, rhythmic peddling of my bike, to the sound of the raindrops on my skin and on the road; and I cherished the memory of the morning when I surrendered to the rain.