I was a bit late leaving work yesterday. I had to get back, as Mrs Dan had her first dance class of the year that day, and was very keen to attend. I was on a three-line whip to be home by 6pm. It's about a forty minute ride, so I really needed to scoot out not long after five to be sure of getting home on time. However, it had gone twenty past five as I wheeled the bike out of the lift, and the need for a swift ride home was very apparent.

As the office lobby doors slid open, the heat hit me. According to the BOM it was the warmest part of the day, and temperatures were up around 33C. This was going to be a hot ride...

I should have realised at that point that things were not going to go well. There are two reasons why you get lots of red lights; one is when the weather makes waiting at the lights unpleasant. The other is that you are running late.

I copped that double whammy in spades. Every single traffic light was red. Every single one. Out of the office, first lights on Miller St: red. Pac highway junction: red. Blues Rd: red. Lavender St: red. Pedestrian crossing: red. All the bike lane lights in the city: red.

So I just had to wait there in the blistering sun, heat coming up form the tarmac like a sizzling BBQ plate, clock ticking away. I might have considered blasting through some of them like the fixie scofflaw that I aspire to be, but the traffic was also against me; not gridlocked to weave through, but not light enough for there to be gaps.

I finally got out of the city and onto Anzac Bridge. By now I feel very late, so I push hard up the hill battling both the incline and the oppressive temperature. Keep pushing through, onto the local roads, push push push up one last final hill to the house. Drop bike in yard and run into the house.

"I'm here!' I gasp, perspiration dripping from my beetroot red face, legs trembling from the effort. It's one minute past six.

Mrs Dan and Baby look up. "Hello. You look hot. I need to go out in about fifteen minutes, so you'd better have a shower."

The wisdom of women: building in a margin for error where their husbands are concerned.

 

 

Views: 10

Tags: commute, hot, lights, red

Comment by Paul on February 2, 2011 at 11:04pm

What, you don't even get time to cool down? As soon as I get home, my wife pushes my son (almost 2) out the door to see daddy, so I spend the next 30 minutes chasing him around outside before I am allowed in the house, since I am dripping sweat everywhere.

Tuesday afternoon was like a furnace, so when I got home I saw how parched all the plants etc were in the garden, so I got the two hoses + my son and we played "hose wars" (I mean, we watered the garden!). He thought it was hilarious, he sprayed me with the hose and I made mock protests about how naughty he was being (but it was so nice getting sprayed!)

Anyway, on a normal day it takes me about 30 minutes to cool down to the point where having a shower becomes a possibility. Any sooner than that is futile because as soon as I am out of the shower, I am still sweating. When I get to work, I use my cooldown time to have breakfast.

Comment by Michael S. (Boxhead) on February 3, 2011 at 7:21am

So next time, Dan, you can relax knowing you've got at least 15 minutes longer than you've been told. Ha ha. Those women types can't fool us ... for long. ;-)

 

Comment by Dan on February 3, 2011 at 7:31am

It's true that having a shower straight away means that you start sweating again as soon as you come out. But better that than having to deal with a lively twelve month old whilst wearing wet cycling clothes.

I find that ten mins under a cold shower cools me enough that I am not dripping too badly...

Comment by Ma Dame Vélo on February 3, 2011 at 8:01am
Boxhead!  I am speechless!  Wait until I see Mrs Boxhead next time!  You can't get away with that kind of subversive plotting.  ;-)
Comment by Michael S. (Boxhead) on February 3, 2011 at 9:16am
Shh MB. If you mention it to Mrs Boxhead she'll just go and make one of those comments that shatters the illusion that I have any idea what's really going on. You women types can be so cruel to us faithful men folk sometimes.  :-p

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