The legendary Seattle wet season has arrived in earnest, but I am finding that even in the rain, riding a motorcycle to work beats driving a car. I’m safely covered in neck-to-toe leather, so my clothes stay dry and I stay warm (though my gloves could use some improvement, and the over-pants could be a couple inches longer – I’m thinking about adding neoprene cuffs).

The rain definitely adds to the inherent risk, but it’s dangerous in ways that you can feel immediately and make allowances for. In the Rover, with its magical computerized brakes, powerful auxiliary lights, all-around air bags, and battle-tested bumpers, I just plow on through the crud and don’t really change my driving style at all. On the bike, though, I’m always keenly aware of the weather, and cannot help but ride accordingly. I can feel, immediately, how the traction changes when the roads are wet, and I take corners much more slowly and carefully. I know how general visibility changes, and leave a lot more space for other drivers who can’t see me. I can feel how the stopping distance changes, and brake earlier and more gently. But I don’t have to think consciously about any of this; you can feel it directly in your body balance, in the way the machine responds, in the way the other drivers react.

I actually like having to deal with the risk. Driving a car is not usually hard enough to demand my full attention, so my mind frequently wanders. Motorcycle riding, though, always pulls me down into the immediate experience: I have no choice but to be present, aware, focused. It forces all my background threads to spin down; I stop planning and worrying, and relax into the flow of the road and the cars and the ride. When I step off the bike, my mind is clean and quiet and positive, ready for the next thing.