SEP 29, 2008 – 12:00AM

Regular readers of my blog (hi, mom!) know I’m in the middle of a five-blog series about the senses, specifically how commuting by bike is a more sensory experience than driving ever can be.

This entry deals with touch, the most obvious of the senses to be affected by trading a ton of glass, plastic and steel insulation for the open air.

I’m touched every ride in a way I wouldn’t be if I were ensconced in my climate-controlled four-wheeler.

I’ve been touched by the extremes of temperature – I’ve commuted below-zero and over 100 degrees.

I’ve been snowed on, sleeted on, hailed on, drizzled on, rained on and frozen-rained on.

The only form of precip I’ve not ridden through is hail, but I figure it’s only a matter of time.

I’ve felt the effects of a 40-plus-mph wind. As a tailwind it’s a joy, a pain as a headwind and a real danger as a crosswind.

As an aside, the weather can be a bike commuter’s worst enemy. Maybe that’s why I’m such a fan of The Weather Channel (and, of course, Sunflower Broadband Channel Six’s own crack weather staff; Sunflower Broadband is owned by the World Company, which also owns the Journal-World).

If I were told I could watch only one channel every time I turned on the TV, I’d opt for TWC over any of the ESPNs or even the Playboy Channel.

OK, the ESPNs, anyway.

I’ve been pelted by sand and struck by rocks, brushed by leaves and whacked with branches.

Once I felt a drink bounce off my head, and I’ve felt everything from coins to cigarette butts plunk off my body, but most motorist missiles thankfully miss their mark.

I’ve been high-fived dozens of times – everybody loves the goofy, slow, old guy on the bike after a few drinks – and felt a hand on my, er, um, seat, a few times.

I’ve felt my face on pavement (rider’s error), and more than once I’ve felt – physically, with my hand – cars as they pass just a little too close.

I’ve even pounded on one or two when I felt especially endangered.

Lately, I’ve felt a chill on my way home at night.

I can’t remember feeling anything, except maybe remorse, when I’m behind the wheel of my car.