They say it's lonely at the top, but riding into the teeth of an east coast low is pretty damn isolating too.
June threw up a nice taste of that this week, right on cue. All hail the Pasha Bulker long weekend. Not that you'd know it now having navigated the tempest. But that's winter for you. Cunning.
A cold blast from the Antarctic reminding all just how precious a beanie can be. Not to mention an umbrella and hot chocolate.
It brings to attention the need to prepare for the elements this time of year, fair of foul, lest you get caught without a waterproof alibi. Failing that, a waterproof rain jacket.
It's something cyclists who commute to work are well familiar with and sums up perfectly one concept of climate change.
You ride to work in the morning in bright sunlight; slog home that evening in the apocalypse. Climate has changed.
Better still, you ride to work in the morning on the verge of apocalypse and nearly make it dry; get smashed 50 metres from base. Good times.
Sporting mums and dads got a taste of it last weekend when Mother Nature waited until just before kick-off across all codes to unleash her fury. Go Johnny!
The only saving grace in these circumstances is if you think to bring "the kit".
For sporting spectators that's usually a brollie, anorak or excuse to watch the game from the car.
For bike riders it's more likely an assortment of odds and sods that keeps them immune to climate change, in their minds at least. It's rubbish of course, and I don't mean climate change, because obviously when it was dry riding to work and absolutely pissing down riding home, there's been a change. But half the battle is mental and the fact you're riding in these shite conditions usually suggests some level of cognitive imbalance. Least that's what you tell yourself.
The kit usually starts off small and increases dramatically the day after exposure, in Russian Doll fashion.
Layer upon layer of whatever lycra-inspired, supposedly water-resistant, allegedly capable of licking moisture away from the body-type material you can lay your hands on.
Every new experience in discomfort triggering new areas of kit to explore.
I'm currently focused on adapting something plastic to protect my soaking, freezing feet. Possibly ugg boots crossed with Crocs. Cruggs.
Technology advances have enabled us to predict with some certainty the tempests likely to be encountered when stepping outdoors.
Blue black bruises sweeping over the radar just on knock-off time. Dark, brooding, but far from handsome.
Yet there you are, and there is home - a good 10km slog away.
Adds meaning to the phrase "character building". But that's Pasha Bulker for you - steely, cold, immovable. If only it summed up your attitude to riding home.
Still, you've got to get there somehow and if you can't ride out the storm, you've got to ride in it. Bring on the kit.