sent from: London, UK. destination: Kibworth, Leicestershire, UK

We were a few miles from our final destination. It was about 6am, still pitch black night. A group of 5 of us on the St Crispins Day Night Ride (see #3.63 #3.64 #3.65) were winding our way through the countrylanes, and a thin rain was falling. We’d been rained on for about 4 hours already, so our waterproofs had had their workout. The worse was supposed to be behind us. Which is when the worse hit us. Like a giant upended bucket, a wash of water landed and kept landing. All I could see was the beam of light from my bike picking out the raindrops, and a road become a river. Maria was saying something but I couldn’t hear over the water. My face streamed with water and I opened my mouth, fish-like as it fell. I yelled, “COME ON! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?! IS THAT ALL?!!” The response was unambiguous – it fell harder and stronger. I heard Maria laugh. It was brief – perhaps only 4 or 5 minutes, and as it cleared the sky lightened and the road drained.
“Crack nature’s moulds, an germens spill at once
That make ungrateful man!”

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, an germens spill at once,
That make ungrateful man!