You tell yourself it won’t rain.
You’re a cyclist. You’re brave. You’ve seen worse. You pack a gilet and a good attitude.
And so begins your first proper autumn rain ride — a deeply emotional, physically moist experience that leaves you transformed, chafed, and questioning all your life choices.
Stage one: “It’s probably just mist”
You set off dry. Confident. The roads are a little damp, sure, but you tell yourself it’s dew. Optimistic dew.
You feel one raindrop. Then two.
You look at the sky like it personally betrayed you.
No big deal. Just a sprinkle. You say things like:
“It’s just spitting.”
“I think it’ll pass.”
“My tyres grip better wet anyway.”
You say these things while squinting through water droplets and pretending your socks aren’t already crying.
Stage two: “I’m already out here”
It’s raining now. Properly. Consistently. You’ve been wet for 20 minutes.
You start negotiating with the universe:
If I make it to the café without crashing, I’ll finally replace that rear brake pad.
If I don’t get a puncture, I’ll clean my drivetrain today.
If I survive this descent, I’ll stop mocking indoor cyclists on Instagram.
You consider turning back. But you’re too far in.
You’re not a quitter. You’re just… soggy and under-lubricated.
So you keep riding, fuelled by stubbornness and the distant hope of a dry patch that never comes.
Stage three: “My chamois is a sponge”
Everything is wet.
Your gloves. Your shoes. Your soul.
Your once-high-performance bib shorts have transformed into a swamp.
You shift gears and hear the sound of mud, chain, and despair.
You attempt to drink from your bidon and realise it’s filled with diluted regret.
You start narrating your own obituary.
You wonder what your non-cycling friends are doing. (Answer: warm, dry things.)
You contemplate life without cycling. (Answer: sad, but less clammy.)
Stage four: “I think I love this – aka madness”
Something shifts.
Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s delirium. Maybe your frontal lobe just gave up.
But suddenly — you feel alive.
You’re soaked, freezing, covered in road spray, and grinning like a maniac.
You lean into corners like you’re in a Belgian classic.
You splash through puddles on purpose.
You start yelling things like “THIS IS REAL CYCLING” to no one in particular.
You are disgusting. You are heroic. You are unstable.
And it feels amazing.
Stage five: “I am never doing that again”
The ride ends.
You get home and leave your bike outside like it’s contagious.
You peel off layers that could legally qualify as wetland.
Your bathroom smells like pond. Your floor is a slip hazard. Your socks will never emotionally recover.
You make a hot drink and wrap yourself in every dry item of clothing you own.
You look at your muddy reflection and think, never again.
Then you upload the ride to Strava with a caption like:
“Character-building spin 💦💪”
And you know, deep down…
You’ll do it again next week.
