Out in eastern Colorado, there are miles of dirt roads that are pretty easy to ride when they're dry. But rain changes that drastically. I had done a baptism at a country church for a couple whose wedding I'd performed at the same little church about three years before. Just as I got to the church, it started raining lightly, but there was lots of lightning and very high winds. At the very moment I put the water on their baby's head, the wind and thunder stopped. After the service, they invited me to the mother's uncle's home about four miles away. I tried to get out of it, saying that I didn't want to get caught on those roads if it rained since I was on my Concours and not in a car, but finally said I'd stop by for "just a few minutes."
Well, we got there and went in and it began to pour down. Like a fool, I stayed drinking coffee for about 45 minutes. I had two choices of routes back to the pavement, both about 12 miles. I squirmed my way east and got to a T-intersection. I managed to get around it and then came to a 90-degree banked turn. By then the top three inches of the road had turned into a glutinous substance that closely resembled brown snot. As I started around the banked turn, the rear wheel of the bike would slide down to the inside of the turn. I'd be to the edge of the road and then have to just try to go back up the incline, then turn and feel the rear slide back down to the inside. It took me 45 minutes to get around that curve!
By then the rain had stopped and the wind was still blowing at about 40-45 mph. I was heading due west with three long hills to go down (and back up) before the pavement. I managed the first two downhills, but just barely. Using brakes was completely out of the question -- even the lightest touch would cause the wheel to lock up. I got to the top of the last long downhill, about a mile and half from the pavement and stopped. When I started down the hill, I was in low with no throttle, but as gravity sped me up down the hill, engine braking caused the rear end to start fishtailing. I shifted into 2nd, and by about 25mph, I was fishtailing again. I was crossing the fairly wide road from one edge to the other and things were out of hand. Finally, down I went, at about 30mph. I wasn't hurt at all and, amazingly, my 'Stitch wasn't even particularly muddy. But picking the bike up was impossible for me. I'd get my butt against the saddle and try to lift, and my feet would slide out from under me in the mud and the bike would slide maybe an inch or two the other way.
A friend lived about 8 miles down the pavement that was still 3/4 mile to the west of me. He was another preacher and he was on the phone doing counseling with a church member. So I stood there and waited for him to get off. After about 45 minutes he did and I asked him to come help me lift the bike. I hadn't seen another vehicle in over two hours. He said he'd be there to help, but needed to get out of his Sunday clothes first.
Twenty minutes later, he still wasn't there, and over the hill behind me came two cars. It was the baby's parents and grandparents. The three men hopped out and came to me, wanting to be sure I was OK and wasn't hurt (this was all about a year after my 3rd and 4th knee replacements). I assured them that I was OK and just needed help picking up the bike. We turned around and the three women already had it up and were holding it for me! And, they were still wearing their Sunday-go-to-a-baptism clothes!
The wind had dried the road enough by then, or I was just close enough to the bottom of the hill, that I was able to get the rest of the way down and was heading up the other side when my buddy and his wife met me and tried to get me to stop. I hollered that I'd stop at the pavement and not before.
By the time I got to my house 50 miles away, that old eastern Colorado mud had dried rock-hard. It took me a long, long time at the car-wash and many quarters to clean the Connie up.