Sept. 28 may go down in Buffalo “meteorologica” as the 2009 Monsoon of September, similar to the October Surprise of ’06 or the Blizzard of ’77. I just know it took me — and, by the speed and number of vehicles surrounding me on the road, many others — two hours to drive to work from my home in Hamburg, a 14.8-mile trip that usually lasts 20 to 30 minutes.

I paid rapt attention to the local TV news media, which strongly encouraged using alternate routes as a female morning show personality was buffeted to and fro by the wet winds of early morning. Route 5 was closed.

Being the good and dutiful commuter, I accessed South Park Avenue, proceeding at a brisk 2 mph, bumper to bumper. Having recently acquired a new vehicle, I took this opportunity to become familiar with the bells and whistles that, to date, I had not been accustomed to in my previous car.

Variable windshield wipers are a true treat in pelting and pouring rain. I was also quite pleased that I heeded my 20-year-old son’s advice against a five-speed manual stick shift. My right arm would have overdeveloped into the Hulk’s bulging bicep from overuse in this kind of driving. What a luxury to actually program different radio stations after previewing the variety on the airwaves.

As I approached the Blasdell Thruway ramp, only an hour after leaving my driveway, I was immediately faced with a momentous decision — continue the trip on South Park, at 2 mph, or peel off onto the Thruway? Relishing a challenge, I took a right turn toward the Thruway. Alas, it was hardly the “road not taken.” My decision was not a unique one. However, once in traffic, as I left the toll booth behind and merged with hundreds of other drivers, my speed accelerated to five times my previous record.

Consciously choosing to relax rather than react with mounting frustration, I settled in to my heated leather seat, enjoying my coffee and appreciating this morning for what it was — practice for driving when winter hits. At least there were no whiteouts!

This “alone time” is usually achieved only once a week, at Mass. At home, I am popping up and down to let the cat in, let the dog out and rescue my kitchen from attempts by my helpful spouse to figure out my stacking logic for pots and pans.

I was also able to indulge a little- known quirk of mine while listening to classical music, that of isolating instruments in a particular selection. This is something I do when at the Philharmonic, of course, but there I do it with my eyes closed. Accidentally, I discovered that I could control the volume and selection of music from my steering wheel. Would wonders never cease?

Though long past the season to “stop and smell the roses,” this lazy drive to work allowed me to notice the beauty and majesty of the gathering clouds, for yet another downpour. Approaching Exit 53 I was, again, faced with a dilemma —take the exit into the city or continue to Exit 51 to grab the Kensington? Others were lured by the quick solution, but the numbers exiting proved cumbersome and that line of traffic continued to crawl toward the metropolis.

As a crescendo began to build on the radio, my speed began to increase. I was finally at speed. Soon the Kensington was in sight, and then the Scajaquada. I had arrived safely at work, realizing that happiness is not just reaching one’s destination, but enjoying the detour along the way.