Riding Home In The Rain

It was 5:30 PM, I’m at work, and I hear the dreaded words “looks like it’s going to rain“. Yep, just one and half hours to go, and sitting in bay 3 is my ramblin’ Rose, oblivious. So I’m eyeing the sky, looking for rainbows, of which I was rewarded with a double.

Yet the sky was not quite done, as fate would have it, on the horizon was one much larger, actually G I N O R M O U S, storm cloud.

Against the advice of my colleagues’ suggestions of “you can just leave it here“, or “they have bike racks on buses now don’t they?” All fine, and thoughtful suggestions, however, my stubborn desire to ride home prevailed.

Whilst riding Rose, it is hard not to feel a sense of dignified freedom. So, as I’m cycling through the parking lot it started. Drop, drop, drop, and it was upon us.

This was no light shower either, Mom. Oh no, this was a torrential and pervasive thunderstorm. The rain at one point was coming down so hard, I had no choice but to put my sunglasses on just so that I could see.

So, picture if you will this wingnut ramblin’ down Base Line, sunglasses on, wearing this long sleeve jean shirt & capris, soaked to the blawdy skin, cycling down the sidewalk like it’s a beautiful sunny day.

I was riding my bike home come hell or high water, pun intended. You know me, once I get a thing lodged in my old noggin’ there is little that can persuade me otherwise.

We lived. Weren’t hit by lightening, nor succumbed to pneumonia.

I thanked Rose, cause she is just as lovely in the rain as in the sunshine.

If I’d just brought my rain jacket, but alas, I did not. A split-second morning decision, and off I trundled, knapsack on, wind and sun on my face.

Smiling the whole way.

Well, most of the way. There was the bit where I got a little lost, which sucked. Then, of course, I got so off track I had to trudge up that stupidly steep hill there at Wonderland and Springbank.

Yeah, I know, quit laughing Mom. Just quit. Thought that would amuse you. I remember you always said you could drop me off in the country somewhere, and know you’d never see me again.

So anywho, Mom, this is me getting on with my life. Crossroads and I had a fight Friday Night. Again.

Sure, on the surface is one string of events that began with stupid me suggesting we get more beer. The fight itself was really not summed up in the words we/he, or me, spoke. No, rather, I believe this was about the words I haven’t said. Or said BACK.

During the previous week, and a bit out of character, he kept saying those three words.

I ignored those three words.

Testing me do you think? Seeing what I’d say?

Problem is, I don’t know what to say.

It was going along just fine, of course. This nice yin and yang balance, of time alone with time together; least I thought it was. I was liking this sense of solitude, yet with the comfort of a relationship, with none of the unreasonable expectations.

Yeah, I know, what was I thinking. I was doomed.

It’s been days since I spoke to him, and probably more will go by.

Thing is, if I’m honest, Mom? He is just so handy to have around. Lives just around the corner, I like his company, and there are few who like the things we like, talk about the things we share interests in; like history and sappy Old Country songs.

I do like him, and it is unconventional, and that seems to be the sort I’m attracted to if I’m honest. I have some issue with normal guys. Normal is boring, I want a left of centre guy, unusual, different, not afraid to be their weird, wonderful, wacky selves.

Still, I just don’t know right now what I think about him, us, this.


Hey, maybe I just needed a bike, not a man.

Riding home yesterday, through those suburban streets, was good. Down Andover, turning onto Base Line, and I’m almost home, the rain hitting my sunglasses, but I kept going.

Drenched right down to my bones, I’m cold, but I kept going.

My clothes and hair plastered to me, and I kept going.

Lightning off over my right shoulder, followed by more thunder, yet, I kept going.

Over Wharncliffe, and by this point I’m completely not concerned about my hair, my clothes, crossroads man, work, money, love, nothing.

It was just me and my ramblin’ Rose. She’s not all I want, yet she is just want I need; for now.


[ feature image from Wikimedia – By Bidgee – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0 ]

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