Wet, Wet, Wet

My front tire sluiced through torrents of water streaming over the sidewalk as I cycled like a fiend through the rain storm. There was no pretense at keeping a single inch of my body dry, cars on the road throwing up swales of water, soaking me with each pass by. My runners squelched and my soaking wet tie die shirt felt like a heavy second skin. How had it all come to this?

Our day began with an energetic cycle on back dirt roads along the scenic Cape Breton coastline, gentle rolls of waves breaking on rocky beaches. Determined to keep those two wheels moving, in the late morning we biked a 27-km stretch of the Celtic Shores Coastal Trail — a repurposed rail line for cyclists in the summer and snowmobilers in the winter.

So far so good. But it was the decision to bike a short 2 kilometres to Route 19 Brewery that was the fatal mistake. That and leaving the screened windows on our van open.

As we sat on the microbrewery deck, a few raindrops began to fall. Our waitress jumped up at the first concussive boom of thunder. And then the storm came full on as we sought dry sanctuary in the brewery. The rain poured down from grey skies when we remembered the open windows.

And so I volunteered to cycle back and return for Coleen with the van. Chivalry may not be dead, but I can assure you it is most definitely wet, wet, wet.Okumaya devam et