Amazing as it sounds, some people don't seem to get this concept. Actually, I didn't really get it when I first started riding. I have some nicely faded scars on the fingers of one hand as testament to my belief that tyre grip didn't diminish when confronted by liquid water.
Happily, I am not the only one to bask in the warm inner glow of stupidity. I was taking it easy as I went around The Bay, being careful not to pile into sharp corners at a high rate of knots. A cyclist behind me got a bit impatient with this cautious approach, and he went around me with the sort of huff that I usually make when I overtake slow coaches.
Less than 100 metres later, we approached a bend that I know to be a menace - it is surrounded by pine trees, and their needles get exceptionally slippery when they get wet and squished by traffic. He leaned into the corner slightly, hit the needles, and I watched with amusement as his back tyre started going sideways.
He managed to stay upright, but he ran off into the grass looking mighty upset. He was very lucky to slide off at a point where the path was not lined with a high concrete kerb. I cruised on past, feeling very nonplussed.
It was actually a beautiful morning for riding - the rain was falling as a very fine mist, which was enough to keep the temperature down nicely without falling hard enough to be running down one's face. It was certainly enough to keep all the wimps indoors - I rode for 15 minutes before I saw another cyclist or a jogger. I pretty much had the paths to myself. I felt like the last human on earth there for a short period.