I did not stay reasonably, nor even unreasonably, dry; I was completely soaked! Someone somewhere has a picture of me wringing out one of my socks.

I have GOT to get at least a waterproof jacket; the little windbreaker I had on definitely isn't waterproof. I was so wet, the water I was wet with had water on it!

But it was worth it. I didn't ride nearly as many miles as I'd hoped -- next time, I'll check out a course before pronouncing my lofty goals for it! -- but I did get in a solid 66 miles, and will go back to that loop and ride another 34, by God and kittens, I will!

Here's part of the email I sent out to those who sponsored me:

There is a saying: Melancholy is incompatible with bicycling. I have found this to be true (yes, even when riding in the dark in a cold rain). I have often put it this way: It's impossible to cry on a bike.

I was wrong, however. One of the things I learned during this event is that it is, indeed, possible to cry on a bike.

The route had some people along it cheering riders on; these cheerer-on-ers were all near the start/finish point, most notably on the hill leading to the start/finish line. The rest of the route was devoid of cheerers.

Except, here on my fourth lap for one set, I saw a man on the other side of the loop standing on a corner, holding a handwritten sign which said, "Thanks for riding." Since I ride slowly enough to have whole conversations with people standing by the route, I said, "Thank you for being here." He held out his hand for me to slap as I rode by, and that is when I noticed the text in orange below the "Thanks for riding." The text in orange -- the Booty event color -- read "Son has leukemia."

And that is how I know that it is possible to cry on a bicycle, for I did so the rest of that lap. As I do now, remembering this, and wishing now, as I did while I was riding, that I had a tissue handy and more importantly, a cure for leukemia.