Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

It’s supposed to be March.

March the sixteenth, even, which means that spring is just ‘round the proverbial corner.

This is the Pacific Northwest. It’s not supposed to snow here much at all, and certainly not the week before spring. The forecast yesterday was “some showers in the afternoon,” which apparently means “rain all day.”

The depressing part about the weather up here is that it’s pretty much always wet, but rarely really raining. I’m amazed at how much a tenth of an inch of precipitation can get dragged out.

Take a forty-degree day, go for a four-hour ride. In general, it’s not so bad, so long as you’ve dressed properly.

If it were raining hard, I could just go all hardcore on it, accept the wet and mud and sogginess, and that’d be that.

But it won’t actually rain. It just drizzles. All. Day. This means that, after a few miles, the surface of everything is soaked with cold water, and this slowly penetrates everything, starting at the extremities.

After two hours, fingers, toes, nose, and ears, are all hurting. Colder, and they’d go numb, but it’s not that actually cold. Gusts of wind stir this mist around the air, sending the eensy-weensy raindrops flying more horizontally than anything else. The clouds fill the sky in a gray, unchanging mass, smeared over the blue by the wind.

They’re low, and the mountains and hills in the distance are obscured by fog.

Overall, it’s damned near impossible to tell wear the ground ends and the sky begins.

Powerful rain, thunderstorms, and other forces of nature all carry fitting metaphors about power and passion.

Here, life is simply damp.


  • At 11:47 PM , Blogger ryan said...

    Oh! Cascadia, Cascadia!

  • At 12:36 AM , Blogger Argentius said...

    It's a beautiful thing, no?

    That was my pre-ride comment.

    After, I'm always much happier about the rain.


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