The Storm that Never Came

It was supposed to hit the Big Island at noon on Tuesday. At eleven, a possessed Nate gathered his gear to hit the trail, laughing maniacally inside as he thought about riding in the gathering storm. As he rode out, he could hear a bit of rumbling in the dark clouds overhead. A light drizzle began to soak his shirt. I'm ready, he thought.

Lap one, the drizzle has become a light shower, as he flies around the corners starting the downhill half of the second lap. He drifts to the right side of the trail and attempts frantically to clip out of his new pedals which the previous owner had adjusted too tight. Just in time, he flies through the air free of the bike through sticks and logs, breaking them like twigs. The bike's okay so he rides on.

Lap two, the rain has done its work and the trail is as sloppy as ever. He again flies through the first downhill section, making a last minute decision to detour to the trail he built with his own blood, sweat and tears. Bad decision. His rear tire cuts a deep gouge in the grass as he lays the bike down at full speed. Not a bad wreck, he thinks as he rights the bike to continue on, only a gash in my knee.

Lap four, going the other way now, he shifts to an easier gear to make it up the last short hill before the long sweet downhill, and snap! The right shifter is dangling by its cable, knocking against the tire with each revolution. Time to go home.