I’m watching CNN as I write this early Sunday evening, wondering how much of the coverage of Hurricane Katrina is TV hype-ola and how much of it is on the money. Time will tell, and pretty soon. So it would probably be in very poor taste to mention that our own weather today was, in a word, glorious. Clear, warm, with a sustained 15-knot wind blowing out of the southeast. Best sailing day ever.
It capped a truly pleasant weekend, the details of which I’ll spare you. OK, except for Saturday, when I tried to show just how tough I could be, running errands by bicycle in these days of $2.60 gasoline (post-hurricane price: $3.60). I stuffed the dry cleaning into the bike bags, dropped it off, and set off for the farmer’s market. It started to sprinkle. I’m too tough to turn back for a sprinkle. It turned into a shower. I’m too tough for a shower, too. The shower became a downpour, which I am tough enough to endure, but it sort of makes your trip pretty miserable. But by then I was soaked. Turn back? Errand undone? I’ll still be wet, but I won’t have my vegetables.
So I rode on. Boy, did I feel stupid. My shoes filled with water. My windbreaker became sodden, as did everything underneath. I stopped at the ATM, which got my billfold wet. On to the market, where I bought a bunch of wet vegetables. Loaded them into the saddlebags, which then got…wet inside. Long story short: I made it home, peeled my clothes off in the kitchen, dried myself off with a dish towel, and took inventory. Long story shorter: Everything was wet. But the day was warm, and a little water never killed anyone. Hours later, dried off, I headed out for another errand, car-based this time. I hit the little button that pops open the switchblade-action key.
Water dripped out.
Oh, well. You know what my dad used to say when I complained about going out in the rain? “Don’t worry, you’re not made of sugar. You won’t melt.” My dad: Always sweet-talkin’ his little girl.
Bloggage: Another in our continuing series, Detroit: It’s a tough town.