I had a nice ride to work at dark-thirty this morning. It was 64 degrees with a light northwest wind. Getting back home ended up being a little tougher. Wouldn’t you know it that the day the weatherman forecasts sunny and dry ends up being the commute day I end up getting the wettest?

My ride home Friday had looked a little iffy, too. At 3:00 pm, a half hour before I get off work, it was pouring so hard that Rose sent me a text, asking if I wanted her to pick me up. The weather radar looked like it was going to let up, so I answered no, it wouldn’t be the first time I got wet on the bike.

Sure enough, right on cue, five minutes before I took off for home, the rain let up. I never hit anything more than a light rain on the way home. The roads were wet enough that I was glad I had fenders on the SXP, though.

Today, I got within three miles of home, then the downpour hit. Twice, when wind gusts reached 50 to 60 mph, I stopped and took refuge for a few minutes. A mile from home, I was coming down a hill to a stop sign. I was watching the intersection, rather than the road in front of me, and forgot how deep the water can get at the low spot in the road just before the intersection.

I hit the water too fast, then hit my brakes too hard, and was down on my right side instantly. Thankfully, skidding on concrete that has 11 inches of water on it removes a lot less skin than skidding on dry concrete, and I only suffered a minor scrape on my right arm.

As I stood in the garage, wringing the water from my skullcap, Rose stepped out of the house, took one look at me, and said, “Oh well, it’s not like you haven’t gotten wet before.”