When traveling on ships, people talk about adjusting their balance to the motion – finding their sea legs.

Apparently, when navigating sidewalks on land, I’m still trying to find my rain legs.

I take full responsibility for being unbalanced. I don’t blame it on the rain.

Unless soaked to the bone, pelted by walls of water, wracked by hypothermia or lashed by the 39th consecutive day of a seemingly incessant storm, I’m one of those people who likes rain. The gray puddles and subdued light usher my imagination.

That affinity is a good thing if I happen to have the time to heed the proverbial call to curl up with a hot drink and good book.

I’ve found the experience can be even better after a refreshing dash in the rain, or a deliberate change of scene. After wave-watching at the Cove in Seaside, for example, even a car can be a nice place to read.

Sometimes, the available time is limited and windows of opportunity are small, and you must move quickly and adroitly to enter at all.

That’s where rain legs come in handy. I tried to jump at such a chance Saturday.

Raindrops plinked across the lid of the cup of the steaming mocha in my hand as I strode eagerly along the sidewalks. In the pocket of my trenchcoat was “The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay” by Michael Chabon, a 636-page novel that had enthralled me for weeks, despite inconsistent blocks of time to read. I couldn’t wait to get back to it – I was on page 522 and was determined to make the most of a bit of spare time, away from the commotion of the cafe, to read in my car.

I had successfully navigated several blocks past other waterlogged pedestrians, weaved between parked cars, whisked raindrops from my eyeglasses, skipped across gutters and dodged at least two nasty puddles. Victorious, I reached the car, grabbed my keys with my free hand, opened the door and slid inside.

Somehow, in that last seemingly simple step, coffee leapt out of the cup and splashed across the dashboard, the steering wheel and my lap.

Not long ago fire officials said we were due for a good dousing, but they were talking about rain on trees, not coffee on my pants.

I can count my blessings that not too much sloshed out of the cup, and what hit me was not scalding.

Muttering and sputtering, I found myself perplexed yet again by one of nature’s profound mysteries. On top of everything else, why is it that for those of us who are coordination-challenged, those of us who have not yet found their rain legs for the season, why do we always seem to experience such mishaps in ways that reveal them the worst?

I mean, why would the dark chocolate coffee seem to choose to splotch my legs on the day I was wearing tan pants, instead of black jeans, like the day before?

Like most men, I try to be neat but I often end up being a slob. Sometimes I accept this and shrug it off. And I wear dark clothes a lot.

But it’s maddening, this phenomenon: For some reason, the size and color of stains increase as a factor of embarrassment in relation to the contrasting color of clothing.

I think the scientists at laundry detergent companies have something to do with this pattern.

The way the products are advertised, they clearly understand how the newness of clothing also factors into the formula. The only time a black ink pen has ever leaked in my pocket occurred a couple of years ago, coinciding with the first day I wore a brand new pair of khakis, a birthday present.

My situation Saturday was complicated by the fact that I had forgotten to grab a paper napkin at the cafe and – probably because of earlier spills – I had nothing similar left in my pockets or my glove compartment.

I ended up using rain to work on the stain. Sure, I could have trudged back to the cafe, but that would have taken more time, and who wants to walk around in public with wet pants?

Instead, I soaked the edge my coat outside the window of my car and used it to mop up the mess.

When I had done all I could do for the moment, I was still determined to get in a bit of reading. Besides, I had to do something while my pants dried.

Maybe I found my rain legs after all.

Brad Bolchunos, the south county reporter for The Daily Astorian, continues to practice jumping at open windows of opportunity.