A Ride on A Bike in the Rain*

I Would Do it Again

I spend plenty of time being miserable outdoors. I’ve camped in subzero cold in Minnesota and in persistent pouring rain in the Pacific Northwest. I’ve bicycled through thunderstorms, struggled up hills till I came to a standstill, and kept my head close to the handlebars as I plowed into headwinds for mile after mile. I’ve canoed on lakes frothed with whitecaps. As a child, I really did walk to school in a blizzard, uphill both ways. Often, at least in retrospect, it was worth it.

But not always.

A few months ago we cruised the Douro River in Portugal. Discomfort was not on the agenda. The ship was elegant with sizable rooms and comfortable beds; it had a couple bars on board and a gourmet dining room. Most on-shore expeditions were gentle walks through vineyards or strolls through medieval towns bordered by streets filled with luxury brands: Cartier, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Gucci. One expedition was a bit more adventurous: a bicycle ride through the Rio Tâmega Valley in the Vinho Verde region of Portugal. But even that was supposed to be no more than a gentle meander along an abandoned rail line, now paved and well-marked for leisurely bicycle rides. No hills, plenty of shade, e-bikes for those who wanted to minimize any strain.

The weather was a different story. From my youth in Minnesota, I have been a dedicated weather watcher and, looking forward to the ride, I started checking the weather early hoping for a nice day. But from days out, the forecast was rain. Maybe not steady, but plenty of it. There would be dry spells and I kept hoping for a break during the ride. But no, it poured. It poured as the ride started and it poured as the ride ended. It let up for the middle of the ride, but never completely stopped and the bike path and we riders remained thoroughly wet.

I bicycle a lot. I mean, A LOT. I ride thousands of miles each year, and five years ago I took a couple months to ride across the country, from Oregon to Massachusetts. If you spend that much time on a bicycle, you will get caught out in the rain sometimes, even in Southern California.

But some rain now and then, and the inevitable head winds that are the other curse of cyclists, are worth it for the chance to see a valley filled with vineyards stretching out below you or a hawk on the wing, to catch the odor of wildflowers bobbing in the breeze and sea air rolling in from the Pacific Ocean, to hear frogs peeping in the newly moist forest and birds singing to the sunrise or sunset. To experience the weather along with all this is to be a part of the landscape, not just an observer. And even if the landscape is unrewarding, you can build and cement friendships on a bicycle, friendships that grow stronger in both good and bad weather.

The Portugal ride had none of that. My shoes were soggy, my shorts splashed, my hands soaked. Parts of the valley may have been beautiful, but the rain spotted and fogged my glasses and I had to stay narrowly focused on the path in front of me to avoid other cyclists, some of whom were occasional riders struggling to keep upright and on track in difficult conditions. New friends were on the ride, but I barely saw them. Recent wildfires had scarred the landscape and left an acrid odor that the rain had not washed away. Here and there, workers were repairing damage from the fire, narrowing the available bike lane. And as for gentle breezes? The breezes only blew rain into our faces and chilled us in our soaked clothes.

The ride ended in a downpour, and we left our rented bicycles for others to take care of as we darted through the rain to a bus waiting to take us back to the ship. The bus ride was only a bit more comfortable than the bicycle ride; we weren’t getting wetter, but we were already soaked and chilled and impatient to get back to a warm shower and dry clothes. Some riders gamely tried to put a good face on it: it was a memorable experience, they said, and an accomplishment to complete the ride in difficult circumstances. Maybe, but I had ridden in the rain before – nothing new or memorable for me, just another wet day.

The Pareto Principle (named for the early 20^th century Italian sociologist and economist Vilfredo Pareto) suggests that 80% of the value of any effort derives from just 20% of the work done. For example, 80% of a product’s sales may come from 20% of the marketing efforts put into the product. Smart managers try to identify and prioritize the crucial 20%, often willing to give up marginal gains from further effort as not worth the cost. Today we call these “hacks” – a quick way to get most of what you are looking for.

That is all well and good, but it is easy to take the idea too far.

My ride in the rain was pretty much pure waste; it was firmly in that 80% of the effort with no (or little) marginal gain. And yet, I would do it again. And again, and again, and again. I guess not if I knew for certain the experience would be no better, but you never do know. Perhaps next time I’ll catch a break in the weather. Perhaps the landscape will be irresistible, even in the rain. Perhaps a new friendship will grow from an otherwise dreary experience. What I do know is that, if I’m not willing to risk a little bad weather, to risk a little misery, I will miss out. If I’m always looking for hacks – the way to have a perfect ride on the perfect day with the perfect people – I won’t just miss the marginal benefits from a little more effort (or a little more misery), one day I’ll miss something that makes all the bad trips worthwhile: the perfect sunset, the vista that changes my relationship to landscape, the new friend.

Give me a ride on a bike in the rain. I’ll see what life makes of it.

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* In his wonderful book A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, George Saunders discusses Anton Chekhov’s short story “Gooseberries”, which includes a swim in the rain. I could not resist adapting Saunders’s title here.