Riding in the rain; religion, the rapture, and zombies

The weather sucks. Now that I'm back in the bicycle saddle, and want to get into a regular training routine, it's been raining off and on for several days. Unless I'm caught in a rainstorm while out on a ride or I encounter rain on a long trip, I don't care to ride in the rain. I'm too old to be that gung-ho.
It looks like if I want to get a ride in before the Rapture--scheduled for tomorrow at 6p.m.--I will have to ride in the rain. The current prediction is for more rain until and through the 21st of May. The end of the world is getting a lot of press, most of it tongue-in-cheek. But it has traction. Of course, so does the zombie apocalypse. 
Other than getting born again, the christian rapture seems to require little more than maintaining the reborn feeling and of course paying a tithing. The Pentecostal church, I attended for a few years with my mother, seemed to suggest an unspoken assurance that if you were born again (and didn't back slide) all of the belief system required to support the Pentecostal position was automatically transferred to your soul. I assume it replaced all of the sin that was washed away when you repented.
After a couple of years of the torture of attending a church that used fear and guilt to promote change I started going to the Catholic church down the street. I waited until the parishioners in my mothers church were worked into the frenzy of the holy spirit (talking in tongues, jumping up and down, skipping down the aisle arms raised to heaven) then I snuck out and run to visit the Catholics. The priest said the mass in Latin and the congregation rose, sat, and nealt  on cue probably never understanding what was being said by the priest. In the background you could hear the whispered words and the clacking of rosary beads as old ladies wearing black mantillas said the rosary.
The church was dark, lit by huge candles and light let in through stained glass windows, and smelled of years of sweat, incense, and years of sins released in the confessional. I sat in the back pew among the late comers and, during the winter, bums coming in out of the weather. Compared to my mother's church, the Catholic church seemed peaceful unless you counted the various paintings, statues, and crosses depicting torture, political intrigue, and death on a cross, probably one of the most atrocious ways to practice the death sentence.
The priest noticed me coming in every Sunday and approached me to see if I was interested in converting. I don't think he made covert suggestions of intimacy later disclosed by the media as a pervasive undercurrent of child abuse. I didn't convert but it was in the Catholic church that I started thinking about the lack of divine intervention and consequently that there was either an indifferent god or he/she didn't really exist.
How did I come to this realization? It was Roberta's fault. She was two years older than me. Her family always sat in the second pew from the front. Roberta had matured early and, for their lunch money, she would show the seventh grade boys her boobs once a month on our bus. I wasn't in the seventh grade yet but I had heard the stories, had noticed her early development when we rode horseback together on her father's ranch, where I worked as a cowboy.
The revelation of a lack of divine caring came when I found out I could have the most lascivious thoughts about her boobs and nothing happened. This realization was solidified the day that I put my hand into the air and waved at heaven to "bring it!"
"Show me what you can do," I said. "Blast my brains out, right here in this church." In hindsight I was thinking: cauterize those nasty visions of Roberta's tits that sent shivers down my spine and into my pre-adolescencent crotch." Nada! Nothing happened except that the priest and the congregation, hearing my challenge, turned to look at me standing in the back row challenging god. Roberta smiled and waved. It was the last good thing I saw in any church.

But if/when the rapture doesn't happen tomorrow then I have to go back worrying about the coming zombie apocalypse.What happens if the two are combined? What happens when the people killed in the pre-rapture earthquakes and subsequent tsunami (s) come back to life as brain sucking zombies? But I'm ready. "Bring it on," I say. I've been stockpiling whiskey and some ammunition for years. I can survive for many years. I told my family to come to our house if the rapture happens.

So if tomorrow there is a massive earthquake (or several along the pacific rim as foretold) and I hear moaning and the shuffling of feet, be warned that I'm going to shoot first and ask for ID later.

P.S. Maybe I need a vacation! My brain needs cauterizing. Maybe I will take a bicycle ride in the rain and see if my world view and outlook change.