It will be during the dog days of summer that I’ll recall mornings like today’s with fondness. As I sit there on my motorcycle, stuck in traffic with all that metal of the cars reflecting the hot, overbearing sun onto me from all directions, the heat rising from the asphalt, the engine idling between my legs cooking my jeans. As I struggle through traffic to try and get some speed up to create a breeze to cool my sweat-beaded brow, as I feel the sweat drip down along my spine to the small of my back. That’s when I’ll recall wistfully of the rides taken in March, when I was snug in my leathers, my head encased in my full-face helmet and the temperature brisk. Mornings where you felt happy to be alive.

But this morning, as I traveled down the road and the fog grew increasingly thicker, I was being anything but wistful about the ride. The weather reports were promising a beautiful afternoon with highs near 70, blue skies and a slight breeze. Completely perfect riding weather. As it’s been a nearly two months since I had been out on the bike, I figured it’d be a great day to ride to work. It was a great day to ride HOME from work, but certainly not to.

When I got on the 6-lane that I take to work, the already thick fog grew even thicker, and I couldn’t see twenty yards in front of my bike. Combine that with the condensation that was collecting rapidly on my face shield and the traffic coming up quickly behind me and probably not seeing my puny tail light, I decided it was time to get off the road. I pulled off at the next exit, and found a Chik-fil-a for some breakfast. I couldn’t even see the buildings across the parking lot, so I figured I’d stay until I could. Luckily I had a book of short stories in my saddle bag, so I had quite the pleasant morning sitting and reading.

I do love foggy mornings. Just not so much when I’m riding in them.