When I pointed out to Sarah-with-an-H that there were plenty of other things a person could be doing besides peddling through a mid-December drizzle on a dark and dreary end-of-autumn evening, she said, “Yes, but I like this,” which only goes to show that you're not the only one willing to illustrate Mom’s observation about people who haven’t the sense to come in out of the rain and frankly, why would you want to when being out in the weather offers opportunities for gliding along the glistening roadway, your tires hissing while your face gets a free derm-abrasion and moisturizing treatment along the way.
I’ll never know for sure if the precipitation stopped while we stood under the overpass drinking the magically-appearing beer because, as tehSchott maintained, I never went beyond the edges of our concrete umbrella, but I’m choosing to believe that either coincidentally or because the weather gods have a particularly wry sense of humor, the drizzle ended during our roadhouse-without-a-house intermission, only to resume as soon as we set out again for our remarkably close by destination.
It was one of those nights when the club really lived up to its name or so it seemed until the ride home, which was surely longer than 83 one-hundredths of a mile but by that time, who cares about getting wet, especially given a good two hours of indoor drinking to prepare for it.
And besides, you do have to be impressed with such a solid turnout of old and new on so crummy of a night, a phenomenon that makes you wonder what else, really, could folks be doing this holiday season: watching It’s a Wonderful Life on TV while sipping an eggnog? Stringing popcorn garlands which to adorn the Christmas tree? Gathering around the burning Yule log to sing songs about Jesus and Santa Claus?
All of those, certainly, are worthy endeavors, but when it comes to what’s liked on a Thursday, two wheels wins once again.
I’ll never know for sure if the precipitation stopped while we stood under the overpass drinking the magically-appearing beer because, as tehSchott maintained, I never went beyond the edges of our concrete umbrella, but I’m choosing to believe that either coincidentally or because the weather gods have a particularly wry sense of humor, the drizzle ended during our roadhouse-without-a-house intermission, only to resume as soon as we set out again for our remarkably close by destination.
It was one of those nights when the club really lived up to its name or so it seemed until the ride home, which was surely longer than 83 one-hundredths of a mile but by that time, who cares about getting wet, especially given a good two hours of indoor drinking to prepare for it.
And besides, you do have to be impressed with such a solid turnout of old and new on so crummy of a night, a phenomenon that makes you wonder what else, really, could folks be doing this holiday season: watching It’s a Wonderful Life on TV while sipping an eggnog? Stringing popcorn garlands which to adorn the Christmas tree? Gathering around the burning Yule log to sing songs about Jesus and Santa Claus?
All of those, certainly, are worthy endeavors, but when it comes to what’s liked on a Thursday, two wheels wins once again.
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