Rain, Scooters and Bare Feet

It lashed rain again last night. So hard the furniture moved about on the balcony, I ventured out in the rain in my shorts and flip-flops to put everything to ground level so that nothing would fly before morning.

The garage was flooded when I took the bike out. Flooded might be a bit strong, perhaps puddled is a better description. The electricity was off so I had to work from memory to find the key hole in the chain-lock, free my helmet and spark the baby into motion. The garage was a bit spooky with the one headlight beaming out across cars and wall and the puddled grey floor.

On the street it smelled of rain, freshly fallen and sitting-on-the-pavement rain. Not yet oily and greasy rain. The kind you can drink if you're a child and nobody's looking. I had my sandals on as it's still warm in Barcelona. On the bike’s foot-platform they don't get wet but it's kind of rule-breaking to sit pretty above so much water in your bare feet. Like sitting with your legs dangling over a river.

The corners are dangerous in the rain. Don't break hard or you’re off. Watch the white lines or you’re off. Hitting the ground in the rain isn’t as bad as hitting the dry ground, scratching, grazing and rasping.

I park on the pavement outside work. There she sits in the rain awaiting my return in my sandals, to speed again in the rain, to take corners slowly again, in the rain.