You must be west or southwest of me, then, based on my morning commute.

I bravely decided that a few sprinkles wouldn't keep me off the road today. And a few sprinkles it were, for the first five minutes. Then it stopped all together and was oppresively warm and humid. I prayed for the sprinkles to return as they, at least, were cooling me off somewhat. Five more minutes of riding in steam and then the clouds opened in answer to my silent prayers. The final five minutes of my commute were in a torrential downpour with raindrops the size of golf balls. Well, OK, maybe not torrential and maybe not golf balls, but I was soaked through by the time I arrived at work. Two of the lab ladies looked shocked to see me trudging around dripping wet. I figure they were just taken aback at how sexy a bicycle commuter looks after having ridden in the rain. (right)

Now, the ride home; if I had waited another fifteen minutes, the great big yellow spot on the weather radar would've moved northeast and I would've only had to endure a steambath ride home. But, patience is not my long suit, so off I went in to the teeth of another storm. I lost count of how many drivers shook their heads in amazement. I saw two other riders. One was a woman in her early 20s (near as I could tell), with a beat old Schwinn, no helmet and an overstuffed backpack mashing down the road in the opposite direction. She was smiling, but not near as broadly as I. She didn't wave back, though. The other rider was a commuter headed perpendicular to my line of travel, riding 'properly' and with a helmet. He was being passed by a long string of cars/trucks/SUVs and was getting a good shower in the process. He did not look happy. I waved at him, but not surprisingly, he kept his head (mostly) down and didn't wave back.

Now that I've had my baptism by rain, can I call myself a 'Real Commuter(tm)(c)(r)'?