Whitewater Commute

Well, was yet another wet and dreary day.  Awoke to wet streets and rain stilling falling outside.  The sky was full of clouds with nothing but gray in all directions.  The weather report looked grim, but seeing that I didn't have to be in to work until noon this on this Sunday, I decided I'd hope for the best.  I always choose two pedals over the skinny pedal when I get the opportunity. Having to miss riding in yesterday I was really hoping the sky would clear soon.

I like to leave about an hour before work but a peak through the front window didn't reveal the best news. The light sprinkles seemed manageable enough however, so I decided to give it a go.  As expected, my newly installed fenders worked like a champ and tackled all the flooded streets with ease.  Before I knew it I was at work and about 90% dry to boot.

With rain falling off and on during the day, I was wondering if I'd have the same luck on the way back home.  After work the sky was cloudy but the precipitation had all but stopped.  It was wet and cold outside, but overall it was looking like some reasonable cycling weather.  I threw on my rain jacket, clipped in and pedaled off.

The puddles here and there reminded me the sun had all but lost the battle to illuminate over the past several hours.  My pace was reasonable but not quick.  My thoughts began to wander and my focus dulled a little more with each pedal revolution.  I was relaxed and as the sky drifted into black I was close to home.  My Cygolite Trion 600 was blinking red, reminding me that I had forgotten to charge the unit over the last week or more of commutes.

I selected a lower light output setting and kept rolling just a tad dimmer than usual. One of my favorite little downhill challenges was coming up around the bend.  A nice sloping left under the bridge that always gained my attention, especially on the basically unstoppable fixed gear.  For some reason on this night I took the somewhat blind corner with less hesitation than usual.

Something looked off.  The rain soaked sidewalk seemed to be blending a little to well with the path under the roadway.  I suddenly realized my fate, and it looked far from good.  The usually bone dry underpass was heavily swollen.  Whitecaps crested the rushing brown water that stretched from bank to bank.  Instinctively I grabbed for the brakes, realizing right away that there was of course none to be found.

Man-O-Man... I sure wished I had been practicing my skid stops!!!

Alas, I had not.  In fact, I hadn't even really pulled one off at all.  Thoughts of ejection lept into my head... but to be honest, I wasn't really sure how to even try and jump off this death machine. I couldn't even pause my feet for a second to figure anything out.  Visions of Andy's creek crossing escapade at the end of Trail 401 in Colorado began to pollute my mind.

I was going in, there was no way around it now.  In fact, I was pretty sure my speed had actually increased... probably aided by my mental distractions and the wet concrete below.

As the edge of the black rushing soup met my front tire I simply leaned back... way, way back. As in back of the seat against your jaw back.  White knuckle, elbows locked, knees to the chest back.  Except that damn fixie was forcing me to pedal the entire time. Whose idea was it to build this bike anyway?  Stupid hipster influences!!

My luscious fenders expectedly failed me for the first time and water shot in every direction.  Droplets were caught in the beam of my blueish white LED's and for a moment it appeared as if I had somehow jumped into warp speed. Each airborne pearl seemed to stretch out and stall mid-air.  Almost as if I was surrounded by a massive crystal chandelier. The surprising beauty momentarily distracted me from my peril... yet with ninja like reflexes I snapped back into reality and began to redirect my now rapidly decreasing momentum upstream.

The wonderful full coverage front fender I had been raving about now acted like a scoop in the hub deep flow and created monumental amounts of drag. Pedaling with the veracity of a thousand suns, I spun the cranks ever so slowly against the raging current. I had forward movement, but it was barely detectable. Of course, I could have easily unclipped and put my foot down at this point... but that would be snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.  Crank driven glory or pedaling into a watery grave were the only two true options I felt I had.

Shorts were now soaked and rain jacket dripping as the waters force pushed back and my wheels hurled the fury straight up into the cold air. Thankfully, the concrete beneath me was clear of debris and offered plenty of predictable traction.  I couldn't believe how much water was flowing and with the slope rising up from the tunnel, the velocity became even greater. Much to my joy, the level began to finally drop as the pitch of terrain rose.  Within a few more moments I was able to finally breach the hazard and place wet rubber back on dry land.

Regretfully, there are no pictures to document this truly exhilarating event. This occurrence has forced me to reconsider the possibility of hiring a gentleman small in stature to follow as my shadow and record my daily life experiences. I may have to post this volunteer yet life enriching opportunity on the list that is Craig's to see if I can find someone to fit the bill.

That said, I was able to harness the powers of Google and attempt visualize what could have been...

Sure hope my shoes dry out by tomorrow morning.