It rained this morning.  I rode anyway.
There's now an obvious layer of grime on me and my previously clean bike.
(Oh, I was clean before, too.)
But the damp roads and misty air made me realize how much more I'm aware of my senses when I'm out riding.
I see more.  I see the inches-high corn plants nudging up from the soil.  I see birds, small rodents, even a coyote that had all been hit by cars.  I see places where the water had pooled on the road and the telltale slick spots of repaired tar.  I don't notice those nearly as much when I'm driving.
I hear more.  I hear the vehicles behind me.  I can always tell when a car or truck is going to pass too close for comfort.  I hear the cluck of blackbirds and the occasional starling hovering over me when I've invaded their turf.  I can hear if my bike's drivetrain is smooth or slightly off.  The sounds are rich on a bike.
So are the smells.  This morning it was damp, muggy air.  And recently "fertilized" fields.  And you can tell if the farm has cows or chickens or turkeys.
Even touch is more acute.  I felt the unevenness of the road and the spatter of rain.  The handlebar's shape is familiar and, after many miles, just feels right.   Each pedal stroke reminds me of the contact between feet, rear end, hands, and bicycle.
For some reason, taste is also a large part of the ride.  Whether the sweetness of Gatorade, or the dry much of a Clif bar, or the satisfying after-ride meal, I notice tastes much more while riding.  Foods I don't normally like just taste better.  Not to mention the natural protein of the stray bug...
Today, I'm simply grateful to God for the way he allows us to experience his world.