Call it Rain or San Francisco Fog, There's no Escaping it

June 2009. As a father drove his family on the highway on their way to Ventura, CA the dad did his best to see out his windshield. But the rains were like buckets of water being thrown at them. His windshield wipers didn't stand much of a chance. In the back seat the kids played their Nintendo games, as their rubber booties dangled from their feet. The wife looked at her husband and reminded him to be careful. A quick glance of reassurance to the wife did nothing to lessen her worry. After all, a car had slipped off the edge earlier that day, on the downhill portion of their trip. To make things worse, this was a two lane highway with a bike lane of all things.


The father dropped his speed up the hill from 65mph to 60mph. The SUV in front didn't have any mud/water deflectors. There should be a law against that he thought to himself. It was hard enough to see as it was and what's with all these cyclists riding up the hill? Are they nuts? I mean, there's a single file line of them almost this entire hill. They must be soaking wet. And there are a few riders who are passing these cyclists on their left. They're staying in their bike lane but they are even more nuts then the rest. The kids being kids, started counting the cyclists as they passed them. They probably counted at least 500 of them. A few more miles passed and there wasn't a cyclist to be seen.  

Yesterday morning the weather was strange. Gloomy clouds couldn't decide if they were rain or fog. But one thing was for sure. The roads were saturated with water. The only question was how wet would I get from the ride in to work? It could have definitely been a lot worse. Like the day I described earlier, my friends and I (Marc and Jenn) were the nutty cyclists passing the long line of cyclists on the highway that morning. And the family I described driving the car doesn't exist literally. Only, we've all been there before. I can only imagine what those cars thought when they saw us riding in the rain.

In truth, it was the aidslifecycle (ALC) back in June of 2009. Marc and I had awoken to puddles of water in our tent. We should have known then our day would be cancelled. The rainstorm we were greeted with left no question that we would be soaked to the skin within minutes of the ride. I carried an extra set of clothes that morning. If there's a chance of sun on the other side, I was going to change. Sorry, but riding with a wet chamois for 100 miles is not my idea of fun.  

Possessed by determination and grit, Marc and Jenn plowed the road up the hill that morning. It was nuts. I thought I was the climbing specialist but these two just flew up the hill. We we're likely doing 19mph+ uphill on a 3-5% grade. And as that family passed us in their car, we had little room for error. The cars that passed us at freeway speeds sprayed us with their rooster tails containing water, mud and grit over and over. Not to mention, a third of the bike lane was over run by an impromptu river of water (2 feet wide) headed the opposite direction. So in essence, the bike lane was cut into thirds. one third for the river, another third for the row of cyclists, and the last third for the nutty ones (yes that's us). For we were the riders passing the slower riders. Inevitably we had to deal with a few flat tires that day as well. We had our own to deal with, and of course we helped a few helpless looking riders. I'll never forget Jenn asking a solo cyclist if he needed help. He said no, but she knew better. Turns out he's only changed a tire once in his life let alone try to change it in conditions like this. You better believe we took care of him.

That day got cancelled. Think it was the first time in ALC history that happened. But today's morning commute ride was not that day. And as my buddy Jeff unexpectedly greeted me at the back of my car, he immediately quizzed me on my planned route.

I've ridden in the rain plenty of times. I've got nothing to prove and have plenty of more rain stories to write about. So today's ride was a straight shot in. A simple seventeen miles from Corte Madera to San Francisco. As we rode away into the San Francisco rain or maybe it was fog, I questioned myself as to why I left my rain shell at home. Of course a rain shell would have been overkill. I could have used it on my way to Ventura however. That day, I also skipped the rain shell and relied on my vest and arm warmers instead. I guess I'll never learn.