Bug Spray

Rolling around Summer Lake last night, I finally encountered a weather
pattern that I was not prepared for; the plaque of bugs.

As the sun dipped behind the rim of the lake bed's bowl, putting me in
shadow, I found myself riding through thick clouds of gnats and flying
ants. It was literally (and I do not say 'literally' when what I mean
is 'figuratively'), literally a hail of insects. They were thick as
snow as I ploughed through them at 22mph. They hit my face, clung to
my torso, were trapped in hundreds by the thick hair of my legs.

The bug spray lasted about half an hour, while I brushed the largest
offenders from me and struggled to keep my lips pursed shut. The
assault petered out, but not before leaving me coated with a grime of
the dead and dying.