Upon us all a little rain must fall *

John and I fought yesterday over whether we'd ride today. It was supposed to rain.

I said, "Dude! You're a native Seattleite! How can a little rain scare you?"

He replied with all the reasons we shouldn't ride bikes in the rain - slippery roads, cars can't see you as well, and it's just no fun.

I said, "Too bad. We train in the rain." I was especially annoyed because he had asked that this ride be just the two of us - so if he bagged on me, I'd be out of a riding partner and likely out of a ride, because he hates it when I ride alone.

He gave in, and around 12:30 p.m. we set out on a 25-mile route I had mapped. The starting point was a few miles from our house, so we could avoid a nasty hill and some roads without good bike lanes.

When we arrived at the start, so did the rain. First it came down just in a mist, then it got heavier and heavier. It was never "pouring," but it was definitely showering. Consistently showering.

The saturation point of my pink jacket, Terry pants and booties and shoes was only about five miles today. So much water was coming down my face from my glasses and helmet that I had no need to drink from my water bottle; my mouth was full of rainwater. I hope it's not toxic.

I realized 8 or 9 miles in that this really was the sort of rain for which even I would cancel a ride. However, it was warm - about 60 degrees - so I just told John he was probably right about the rain, but since we had another 17 or so miles to go, we should just find the joy in being out here. We have legs! We're strong! We own bicycles! We live in a place where it's warm in March! Lots of joy. Sopping wet with joy. Uh, yeah.

"Maybe it's not raining in Seattle," I suggest to John. The sky says otherwise, but we're headed into town regardless.

We're on the bike trail that parallels I-90 - and then for two miles, we actually have to go on the I-90 bridge. I knew something was wrong when I saw the cars getting on the bridge from Mercer Island. For my out-of-Seattle readers, the I-90 bridge literally floats on top of the water, so it kind of moves with wind and waves. I don't think I ever noticed it in a car, but it was obvious that the cars on the bridge today did, because they were all slowing down and putting on their brakes.

We get on the bridge. You start by heading downhill to very close to the water level, then the bridge rises again at the end. Immediately I feel strong wind pushing me to the left. My speed is in the mid-20s - I hit the brakes gently and slow down to 18-19 mph. "John!" I yell. "I'm being pushed all over the place! This is really dangerous!"

John looks at me like I'm nuts. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I can't ride! It's too windy! I need to slow down!"

He still doesn't believe me. Well, his bike is probably five pounds heavier than mine (at least), and his body is about 60 pounds heavier. So maybe he really wasn't getting blown around. But I felt like my bike was not perpendicular to the ground - instead it was leaning over, and it was all I could do to keep pedaling.

The bridge is nearly two miles long. When I got down to the flat part, I slowed enough to lose all my momentum. That improved the terrifying feeling, but not by a lot.

14.6 mph. That's the speed I could go on the flat. I prayed to God to keep us safe, and I yelled to John to go ahead and ride - I needed to do my own thing.

I could barely see. The rain was coming sideways, pushing me closer to the traffic. A jersey barrier separates the bikes from the cars, but I didn't want to hit it. Then again, on the other side, just three metal bars separate me from Lake Washington.

Push down, pull up. Push down, pull up. Just keep spinning. I watched as John rode further and further away, and the hill at the end of the bridge got closer and closer.

I expected to feel less wind as I started climbing the hill. Instead, the wind and rain shifted, coming from the left and pushing me right. I slowed to 8 mph to finish the climb, then pushed my way up away from the freeway and onto city streets. There's a really short, really steep climb right when you get off I-90; I stood and my legs found resistance, pushing their way to the top.

181 - that's what my heart rate was when I finally stopped at the very top of the hill.

And the rain had stopped.

But it started again a minute or so later.

The rest of our ride was much less eventful; we argued a little bit, mostly because we just haven't ridden together enough to know each other's rhythms. But that will come. Hopefully I didn't drown John's desire to ride his bike more today!

* Post title courtesy of Led Zeppelin