Wet riders in a drought

 The car needs a new windshield. I came out of work on Friday to find a long, sinuous crack that rose from the lower right edge, snaked across toward the middle, and turned upward. It had not been visible when I drove to work that morning.

Assuming I couldn't get it fixed on the weekend, I called first thing on Monday to make an appointment for Wednesday at the glass place I pass every day on the way to work. I've had to do this with previous cars. I leave the vehicle and continue by bike.

As of Monday, the forecast for Wednesday was for a mild day, partly sunny in the morning, with a chance of sprinkles encroaching on the time I would be riding back out to the glass place to get the car on my way home. As of today, that forecast has become darker and wetter. The amount won't do anything to replenish depleted ground water, but it could be more than enough to saturate a rider.

There have been many days like this through the late winter and early spring. At least one has hit every week on the days when I have tried to accumulate base miles before dragging my tired ass out on the full commute. If you get one brief downpour that yields a scant quarter-inch of rain, it's only a problem if it coincides with your ride time. Or maybe it's one of those gray days of constant heavy mist verging on drizzle. Nature is suffering, wells are failing, the ground less than an inch down is still parched powder, but you, the rider, are covered with wet grit.

The Wednesday ride, now firmly scheduled, will mark my first arrival by bike at work since last October. After that I was planning to try the full route on Friday, with a nicer forecast than Wednesday's. Only now it isn't. The entire seven-day forecast has filled in with showers on most days. Saturday still just says "mostly cloudy," but that can develop into more showers, considering what's lining up for Sunday. And next Monday says partly sunny, but reverts to temperatures more like March.

Before I felt remotely ready to send a well-worn body nearly 70 years old onto a hilly, 30-mile commitment, we had some beautiful days. Maybe we'll have more. Last year, May and June turned quite wet before the rain basically snapped off with the arrival of July. And beautiful riding days don't alleviate the drought. We need some perfectly timed overnight saturating rains followed by sunny days with light breezes that turn into tailwinds.

Selfish motorist vindictiveness

 Still stuck in the car while I lay down some base miles, my time in transit still depends on other drivers more than anything I do myself. I can't just bear down and pedal harder.

Mere traffic congestion can account for a lot. Maybe a driver at the head of the line on a snowy day isn't handling conditions as well as I would. Not everyone can afford good tires. In dry weather, drivers slow down for good reasons or bad ones. You can tell when someone is on their phone or receiving a series of text messages by how they slow down and weave. They shouldn't be on their phone, but they're only being selfish and oblivious.

Vindictiveness takes it to another level. This morning, I pulled onto Route 16 behind a line of maybe a dozen cars. Of those, two or three pulled onto Route 28 ahead of me. When it all got sorted, I was behind three vehicles: a small red sedan at the front, a silver pickup -- looked like a Toyota Tacoma -- and a compact SUV. The pickup truck surged up behind the red car in the lead. I could tell by the way that the red car's driver reacted that we were in for a long trip.

Maybe you have done this yourself: a tailgater comes barreling up and fills your rear view mirror with his grille. So you take your foot off the gas. Think it was too slow before, pal? Check this out.

I don't usually do that if I know there's a good corner coming up. It's way more fun to suck a tailgater into a corner they're not ready for, because they've been pumping the brakes and cursing because I'm not speeding enough for them. I mean, just because an annoying flame-brain is plastered to my rear bumper doesn't mean I want to arrive any later than I was going to already. I'll hold my preferred speed and set up for the sudden change of direction. Most of the time I can lead into my favorite bends without hitting the brakes at all. The next thing Asshole back there knows, he's squealing around some 90 with no idea how he got there.

Lacking a good corner, I just have to endure. But I don't slow down. However, I do know people who will commit punctuality suicide for the satisfaction of dragging a tailgater to hell with them.

Road rage is a hot, active expression. Road passive aggression is a long, slow buildup of frustration.

When I saw what was developing, I slowed to maintain ten or more car lengths from the vehicle right in front of me. With steady traffic oncoming, I would have had little chance to pass if I was the first car behind the red slowpoke. Being three cars back I had no chance at all. I was stuck for the duration.

Before long, we had accumulated another four or five cars behind us.

The pickup truck and the car right behind it kept having to pump the brakes as the red car ambled along. At times the slowdown was so sudden and sustained that I rolled up closer than I wanted, and had to brake as well. At the good passing zone, oncoming traffic held the silver pickup back until past the half. Then he went for it anyway, almost clipping a northbound car as he snatched it back into our lane and rocketed away. Now I was only two down. For what it's worth.

Closer to town, the intermediate vehicle turned aside, leaving me right behind the red leader. In typical fashion, the meandering tourist from out on the highway blazed in through the first curves of the narrowing road like they were leading the Grand Prix de Wolfeboro. But then they suddenly dropped to below 30 miles per hour, and it wasn't because I was drafting them. They just did it. Okay. We swung lazily along in the spring sunshine while they enjoyed their leisurely morning.

When I had left home, I was well placed to arrive at work five minutes early. Tree work on Elm Street and utility work on 28 delayed me, but the red car's long game baiting the silver pickup really killed me. I arrived about five minutes late.

Every time crap like this happens I think about how it would never hinder me on a bike. I have ridden along and glanced over at motorists getting on each other's nerves. I'm grateful every time that I am able to get out of that for at least a few months.