Last night was a muddy, sweaty night.
Toronto had a record level of rainfall yesterday (at the airport, anyway). I rode my bike home from work just as the rain was stopping. I arrived at the house splashed with mud. I grabbed my sailing kit, ate a frozen burrito (after heating it), got changed into shorts and a tshirt, and rushed out the door.
Twenty minutes later I arrived at my sailing club, splashed with mud that now had a solid foundation of sweat. I checked my Blackberry just as an email arrived from the sailing club: Events were cancelled due to the threat of lightning along with the complete and utter lack of wind.
I got back on my bike and headed home. ½ way there, I remembered that I’d offered to investigate some things for my friend Rox, so I made a detour. I made my way back through downtown, splashing and weaving my way through the gridlock. I do love the flexibility and efficiency of a bicycle. As I locked up my bike and entered the office building, I realized that when I scratched my face I flicked mud off. Gross.
I went inside and got what I needed, and headed back out into the humid evening.
Another 20-minute ride got me home. I walked inside, peeled off a disgusting layer of sodden brown-camouflage, and showered for the 3rd time that day. I was specked with mud from head to toe.
I live in a large city. I DON'T get that dirty. EVER. This was weird, and not particularly good.
This morning when I was ready to have a nice dry ride to work, I got a good look at my bike. It as filthy, looking as if I’d just finished an off-road adventure. A quick wipedown fixed it, but I don’t think I’ve seen a bike that muddy since I was a kid.