It never rains in Southern California, right? That was the idea, at least, when I stared out the window and saw partially cloudy skies. “Not a bad time,” I thought, “for a little ride.” I had a lunch appointment in nearby Burbank, and the 14 needed some exercise.

Nary two miles away from home, and a curious mist formed on my visor. “Funny,” I pondered to myself, “that car ahead must be squirting its windshield.” Not so funny, actually, was the sea of cars around me, their wipers activating in reaction to what was, in fact, a steadily increasing downpour. No biggie, really; one of my first riding experiences, while I rode my first bike home for the first time, was through a rainstorm on the 405 freeway. This was really quite routine, actually.

By the time I hit the 5 freeway, the downpour had become a dump. I was soaked, helmeted head to booted toe, and the winds had kicked up to quite a phenomenal degree. The ZX seemed strangely susceptible to crosswinds, and keeping the bike inside my lane was becoming more of a challenge (as was finding the rain grooves on the road, since much of the lanes were forming a hydroplane-friendly layer of water.) This was a pucker up moment if there was one, a stretch where I knew I had to focus all of my attention towards keeping away from wayward cars, on the relatively driest (but least oil-soaked) portion of the lane, all the while occasionally applying the front brake in order to squeegee off accumulated moisture that might reduce braking distance. Ah, the joys of motorcycling. So pure, so carefree, so utterly relaxing… I think I’m having an aneurysm.

After what seemed like far too much life-risking for a casual ride to lunch, I pulled up to the restaurant—Mo’s, a low-key watering hole frequented by folks from nearby NBC, Disney, and Warner Brothers studios—and mercifully shed my sopping jacket as I walked in looking like something dredged up from the bottom of a lake.

Lunch was relaxing (in spite of my firm refusal of a libation) and by the time I stepped outside again, the weather had mysteriously cleared up. It wasn’t until I returned home and read following headline that I realized that the Kawasaki’s apparent susceptibility to crosswinds was, in fact, the result of powerline-snapping gale force winds: “Wild Weather Strikes Los Angeles.” The news claimed that, “Tuesday's storm startled residents, who watched as clear morning skies quickly darkened and gusting winds ripped roofs off several buildings, capsized boats and downed power lines and trees.”

Note to self: check the forecast next time, and never believe 1970s song lyrics.