I love everything about riding in the rain, so the hour I spent outside today was a delight. It started out just cool and overcast, but before I got halfway to the second turn I was in a drizzle. And then came the plet, plink, blet of the raindrops as I cut through town.

My jacket kept me warm as I watched the drops get ready to fall from the bike frame. I love dodging little puddles standing in improbable places and the little patches of grease and oil that stand out on the road in the fresh coating of water.

I love how that one drop of water forms on the bottom of my helmet and hangs on for the longest time, intent on finally hitting the ground somewhere else. How my glasses get rain on the inside and out, and how the rain is cold enough to keep them from fogging up, but still makes them almost useless, so you wind up peering through the space between glasses and helmet.

My gloves are soaked, but warm, and the cold feeling of the soles of my shoes pushing off the ground when a red light flips to green. I like how the little Cateye computer is apparently waterproof, and how the little tool bag under my saddle gets wet from probably every direction.

When the rain gets into my shoes, and my socks are full of the stuff I imagine that it makes me ride stronger, because of the extra weight pushing down into the little circular stroke on the pedals. It probably doesn’t, but I like to imagine it does when I lean over the handlebars and imagine this little roller is the biggest hill that’s ever been topped.

And then, on the downhill side, I felt like I was riding a bicycle again. Maybe that means I’m mostly recovered from my spill last summer. I didn’t think about my shoulder or the sound or that long and still-somewhat ongoing recovery, just the ride. (And how all of my fitness is gone.)

I love the sounds, the whizzing of the tires through a thin film of water and the trickling of runoff into the drainage system. When you pass by them on both sides, you get that rumbling drainage sound in stereo.

Something about the rain and the gunmetal skies and the water on the road changes the nature of noise. There is one brief moment, somewhere around 21 miles per hour, when the wind sounds like a car beginning to track you down. In the rain that is muted, and amplified. You have to go a little bit faster to get that sound. So when I came down the last two little hills when I turned toward home I got to dive into four little turns to build a little more speed the reward is even louder.

And then, having circled the town and the ride is nearing its end, the rain does too. It was with me the whole time, and so there I am, imagining through my foot over the top tube, giving my legs a break and lungs a rest. Passing underneath the beautiful, bare oaks in the bottom of the neighborhood, I get the gravity shower. Everything but my back is wet, because I’ve opened my jacket.

I love everything about riding in the rain. Except the cleanup. Now it is sprinkling again and I have to get the helmet and the jacket and the shoes off so I can grab a towel to dry the frame and components on my bike.

And I’m getting grease and dirt and grim everywhere. My wheels are covered in the stuff for reasons I can’t explain. And the back of my jacket is dirty, from back wheel spray I guess. I towel off the big parts and wipe down the rest with paper towels. Then I can finish my water, of which there is plenty because I found myself just inhaling the fresh stuff on the ride. And then a chocolate milk and a shower and finally I can be dry again. But I love everything about riding in the rain.