This October made history as the wettest October ever recorded here in Seattle. Not only did the rain fall, it fell hard. November is traditionally the wettest month of the year, and with my commutes mostly in the darkness already, I didn’t look forward to the Ride In the Rain Challenge. My count at the Fremont bridge rapidly dropped down to winter levels in the 150’s. I opted to join the challenge at the last minute. How could I not? This sort of thing is very much Seattle and I just have to do it. I have another long, dark, wet winter ahead, might as well make it as fun as possible, right? As soon as November started, my count jumped back up to the 250's, meaning there must be 100 commuters before me who are doing it just for this very challenge. Way to motivate us, Washington Bikes!
To commemorate the rain, I’ll share with you an epic rain ride experience:
Rain fell heavily on the way to work the other day. No matter, I have top end waterproof cycling jacket, and warm thinsulate gloves, and gore-tex shoes. It wasn't until half way through my ride that I noticed my jacket failed. My jackets has never failed me in the 3 years I've been riding in the rain, but today my arms, shirt, and phone all got a drippy layer covering them.
Then, I turned an unforgettable corner. I turned right onto 34th from Stone Way, a turn I make every day. Usually my only concern is making sure there isn't another oncoming cyclist in my line of pedal. However, on this day, I turned the corner and everything stopped. So many sensations hit me all at once. I felt my bike come to a halt. This was the sort of halt when you suddenly find yourself going up a very steep hill and you shift in the wrong direction. If felt like the front of my bike got punched. At the same moment, I felt water cover me. Streams of cool water poured inside my clothing. My shoes, submerged in water, filled more quickly than I could register. As I watched water pour over my knees, my body responded automatically, involuntarily. Out of some soul unknown to me, my legs pushed down with all their might. My body didn't hesitate, when the force of my legs did nothing, my body reflexively stood up and pushed down. And pushed. And pushed. My mind felt like a bystander, a watcher in all of this. One leg moved. Then another leg moved. Sometimes bikes halt suddenly in a ride, perhaps a strong wind or a skipped gear, and the body does everything it can to keep from falling over. As if falling meant terrible, irrecoverable doom. My brain the bystander finally caught up to the moment, "I am not falling. I'm upright. I'm a-OK. Let's observe the situation. What is going on?" I looked out and realized I hit a giant puddle. It was dark outside so the glossy black of the puddle was hard to distinguish from the black gloss of wet asphalt. I looked ahead, "where does this puddle end?" It seemed to reach forever ahead of me, ending in the middle of the car lane beside me. Reflexively, I started to turn toward the edge of the water. I stopped myself, realizing that would mean me turning into traffic and I was working too hard to pay attention to what's behind me. I looked down. One foot, gone, lost in the black glass. Waves crested over my knees. The other foot, gone. I thought, "How is it even possible that this water is so deep? I am on a road, I am on this road every day, how did it suddenly become a river I have to cross?" I got through the thick of it, the pool became a more typical wake of water splashing up form my tires. I, dripping from wet, looked around, frantic to find another cyclist. I pedaled alone.
The next day, the river had drained. What I noticed though, is that the road takes a particular dip at this corner, making it much lower than all the road around it. What I also noticed was small walls of sandbags built up at the edges of the asphalt. I couldn't figure out what the sandbags where trying to protect, but that explained for the added depth in the puddle. To this day, the corner is covered in a thick, wet muck of leaves and road debris. It's easy to see how drainage grates wouldn't stand a chance in this spot.
