I usually don't chose to go mountain biking in the rain. In fact, if I'm supposed to go biking, and it looks like it's going to rain, I'll make up an excuse why I'm not going. "It's going to rain," usually works.
But today I was on my way for a ride on two track and single track trails in Hancock. Craig, a buddy from my last Isle Royale trip, told me we had a 60% chance of getting rained on. We both shrugged in apathy and embarked in the heavy air.
Over sand piles, bridges, rock beds and smooth trails we pedaled. "Good thing the sun is behind the clouds, or we'd be sweating even more!" After a few miles Northwest, we came to a destination (which I was unaware we had) at a wooden tower in a meadow. We climbed up it for a view of the South side of the Portage Canal. Not bad. Tiny sprinkles began to descend. They felt wonderful.
On we rode, as I was hungry for more single track. Those little sprinkles brought friends and relatives, and soon the sky let loose on us. We became invigorated by the cool water, the fresh smell of the woods, the puddles and each other's giddiness (don't tell Craig I called him giddy). We were two kids splashing in the rain, having a grand time.
I didn't even realize how much much of a high it was until the sky started to clear. "It stopped raining," I sighed, though it was actually still sprinkling. We noticed how ridiculous each other looked and laughed -- soaked to the bone and ready for more. Even Duce thought it was fun.
So maybe, just maybe next time the sky looks like it will bring rain, I'll have to go for a bike ride. Or... maybe not.