I've been burned (and by "burned," I mean almost killed on the top of Humphreys Peak by hypothermia with my corpse pummeled by malted milk ball sized hail as it was fried by lightning bolts) by not taking the right gear for an outdoor activity enough times that "take the gear" has become a mantra for me. The question this morning as I stared bleary-eyed at the gadget with a loud mashup of a a Johnny Cash song, a Civil War song, and the Blues Brothers rendition of a country-western tune playing in my brain was, which gear? Remembering the Humphreys Peak fiasco, and how I averted a repeat the next time I hiked up there by taking a waterproof parka and pants, and had a great time in a driving winter storm, I almost took the waterproof parka. But the weather droid is usually wrong, the online graphics said only "30% chance," and I rarely heed the weather predictions of the love of my life, so I left the parka and grabbed the lightweight cycling shell. That decision appeared woefully inadequate when the storms came through mid-afternoon, with dust and blowing winds, along with rain, and I feared the minivan bail-out phone call was imminent. But as the afternoon wore on, the storms finished. As I went outside, I saw two things that made me believe everything would be OK, if a bit mud-spattered. It turned out that yesterday's song was one day early. The only thing missing was a unicorn running up and handing me some dark chocolate. Next time, I listen to the knee. Get up. Go ride.
Santa Claus, After the Rains
Rainbow. No ghostriders evident.