If not for the emerging green of certain hillsides, or the bright red faces of some unidentified fowl, the morning would have more accurately been defined as drab, dreary. Low hanging clouds draped from the sky, hiding most everything beyond those very same, and immediate, green hillsides. Everything was the same grey color - the water, the bare branches and trunks of California Black Walnut, the mud. Not that there weren't variations in the grey tone, everything between nearly white, and that distinctive nearly black the walnuts get in winter weather. I couldn't be sure if it was dripping from the sky, or seeping up from the ground.
When, later, I was put on the spot, very nearly reprimanded by another rider who discovered the Mrs' bike was not shifting quite right, I wondered if moods had become grey as well. It was the first I had heard of the problem and my response that she would not need the big ring today was less than satisfactory. Women. Always looking out for each other.
And when I put it on the work stand later, IT SHIFTED FINE FOR ME. Hmmph!