(written June 2nd 2010)

So, I rode the motorcycle to school today; ah man, I love it. It was rainy out, but that didn’t matter. Just like lemonade is great because it’s both sugary and acidic, riding a motorcycle is great because of both the sunny and the rainy days.

That all isn’t too relevant, except for the rain part. It was rainy in the early afternoon today, when I rode to school.

I parked the bike in an alley by my favorite cafe and began to walk to class. I turned in my last homework earlier that morning and was walking to my last class…like…legit, last class here, now and at UW. This class has no final exam…only the aforementioned already-turned-in paper. So this is it. The feeling of walking to that class must be a tiny bit like what Usain Bolt felt as he celebrated his 100m Olympic smash-win before the race was even over. Well…ok, maybe it wasn’t that epic. But if felt kinda awesome.

What I’m trying to say is that I was very content while walking to class; I was taking it all in.

Any Husky knows the main walkway down the middle of the quad is not a level surface; after a few years one gets used to it and can take the depressions and rises in easy casual stride, without so much as a downward glance. I’m definitely all there.

I’m walking to class, through the quad; almost there. It was still raining, so I’d left my helmet on for the walk. It is a typical full face motorcycle helmet, DOT and Snell approved and all that jazz. A sizable and vented piece of it protects my chin and beard very well; this lower-face-protection also kills my lower peripheral vision, but that’s not an issue for riding, since one doesn’t spend too much time looking at the gas tank. For walking it also didn’t bother me, because I was content and looking all around and taking in the sights, sounds and smells (I had the visor up) of the quad. Then out of nowhere somehow this random dude and I made eye contact–he was sorta staring at me, while walking perpendicular, crossing my path 30 or 40 feet ahead. He grinned…I was a bit confused. He went back to walking on his way, but glanced back again at me, grinned a little bit, then went on his way. I now believe that, just before this eye contact, he actually looked somewhere I hadn’t, namely directly-in-front-of-me.

Just as he wiped that silly grin off his face I splooshed right into a gigantic puddle I didn’t see because of the great part of my helmet that protects my chin and beard, and because I was so contentedly looking everywhere but directly-in-front-of-me. As the rainwater washed over my shoe and soaked my sock, I thought quickly: I was on my pre-victory walk. It was OK. I confidently splooshed through the rest of the puddle.