The weather in Baltimore this weekend has taken a quick and unexpected, though not unwelcome, turn. It has become the weather of arm warmers and knee warmers, of lightweight shoe covers and long-fingered gloves, of wind vests and shivers at the beginnings of rides. It is the weather that greets me this morning. The sky is grey and just as my body warms up, a light, misty rain begins to fall. At first I ignore it, pretending my disregard alone will cause it to cease. But it continues and with two hours left to ride, I stop and don my rain cape before continuing on.
As I focus on the road ahead through the relentless drizzle, I see in my peripheral vision droplets of water forming on the edge of my helmet. They gently slide from right to left, clinging to the plastic surface as my head rocks ever so slightly with each pedal stroke. Intermittently, a drop releases, melting into the already wet asphalt. I am struck that just days ago, it was sweat dripping to the ground. The sound of the rain striking the plastic shell protecting my arms and torso reassures me that packing this article in my right jersey pocket was prudent. As I fly down a descent, the misty rain stings my cheeks, the cold air causes my eyes to water at the corners, snot flows freely from my nose. It is the first of many days like this that I will embrace simply because they are inhospitable and forbidding, as evidence that my passion for this sport runs deep.
