There was no rain predicted in our area yesterday, which was Father’s Day. No green blobs on the radar. No threat of being bombarded on an early Sunday morning.

But the weather forecast was not entirely accurate. It wasn’t raining out, but it was wet. It was exactly like the thick mist of a cloud had descended on our county and was not going to evacuate the area anytime soon.

We rode through sheets and sheets of the stuff. To some that might have represented misery. To me, it was the perfect way to spend a Father’s Day.

I felt so alive. As we climbed a hill through a maple forest the air went silent except for the sound of rain on millions of leaves. It felt like some ethereally digital experiment in which every sound was magnified, but only to the level that it was pleasant.

We turned west and tore along Beith Road toward Maple Park at 22 mph into a crosswind. In aero position the rain flipped up from my front tire and off the back wheel of my wife’s Shiv when I got too close.

At the Casey’s we stopped for a bathroom break and took in some nutrition. Then it was time to cut back through the wind on our twenty-mile journey home.

It was fun spending Father’s Day in a cloud.