Are guesses, good science or brainless compliance
  To models computers produce
By processing data – some good, some errata –
  The methods by which they deduce
Each weekend's prediction – some fact but some fiction?
  Whatever... one weekend they won.

We canceled an outing, although I was doubting
  The wisdom of what we had done.
They promised us showers, and just a few hours
  Before the ride start time, they came.
Our timid decision for schedule revision
  Worked out; I avoided some blame.

Sometimes when we've ridden, regret's been well hidden,
  But some riders, I have a hunch,
Had wished for bad weather, so we'd get together
  To munch on a nice unearned brunch.

On Friday the sky was bright blue, the sun shining,
With no clouds in sight, with or sans silver lining.
We'd scheduled a group ride, but I'd been postponing
Emailing ride notices, dreading the stoning
That might be my fate if I erred guessing whether
To send riders out into inclement weather...

Or – almost as bad – if I overreacted
And somebody's goals were adversely impacted,
Reducing his (her, or their joint) year-end total,
Or needlessly making him somehow immotile,
Consigned to sit glumly and sullenly staring
Outside at blue skies with the sun brightly glaring.

I rechecked the websites and hoped for retraction.
I peered at the sky for some dark cloudy action.
The clock had run out; it was time for deciding:
Should I call it off or send people out riding?
If I got it wrong, I would grovel contritely,
But I had to choose, either wrongly or rightly...

Then Kay (Mrs. Wayne) boldly made the decision
[That's boldly, not bravely, since any derision
That surely would come if the choice was in error
Would fall on MY head, as I cringed in mild terror.]
The forecasts for rain seemed to be the best gamble,
The logic for which isn't hard to unscramble...

The Bad Weather Brunch Bunch had been in recession
For months – overdue for a rainy day session.
I sent out a notice suggesting a meeting,
Which, based on past history, mostly means: EATING.
Instead of discussing political issues,
Folks seem to prefer items much more delicious.

On Saturday morning the weather was dreary;
I looked at the rain drizzling down, and felt cheery.
I'd dodged the big bullet, avoiding chastisement,
Relieved that my wife's somewhat reckless advisement
Had turned out okay; I'd be spared all that joshing,
And frankly, I'll pass on a trike ride for noshing.

Marie (Mrs. Callender) graciously hosted
Our group; lots of munchies she'd fried, baked or toasted
Lined up, buffet style, had us eagerly drooling.
We sat and had brunch with the rain outside pooling
In puddles through which we would NOT be three-wheeling,
With none of us missing that cold soggy feeling.

An hour went by; with all appetites sated,
The date for our next [makeup?] ride firmly slated
[Perhaps to provide some small hint of assurance
That we wouldn't lose our athletic endurance?],
We paid our checks and still chatting together,
We walked out – SURPRISE! – into bright, sunny weather.

The clouds were all gone, and we stood there befuddled...
The pavement was wet, with a lot of rain puddled
In potholes and gutters, though slowly subsiding,
And no one was eager – at all – to go riding.
We laughed, said, "Goodbye, guys, we'll see you next Sunday."
Were we disappointed? NO! This was a FUN day!

POW Index