I had high hopes for the Perseid meteor shower earlier this week.

See, a couple of years ago, I decided I needed a hobby.

I wanted something that worked well with my crazy work hours, that I could take part in after I got home in the early-morning hours and something that was quiet. If it was something I could partake in solo, that’d be spiffy, too.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, dirty reader. Get your mind out of the gutter.

The perfect hobby: astronomy.

So I bought a scope and star charts and magazines and books. I star-hopped my way through the night sky, tracking down galaxies, nebulae, planets and just about every other object in the solar system I could find in our light-polluted skies.

I had a special fondness for the regular meteor showers, and made sure I worked the nights they were expected to peak so I could ride home and get a little extra sky time on the bike. Most of my commute is under the canopy of trees or downtown, where light pollution is at its worst, but when it comes to meteor showers, the more time outside the better.

Several years ago, during the Leonid meteor shower in late fall, I remember riding home and cursing the clouds that were overhead. Still, I stayed up another hour or so and went outside for another look. By then, the clouds had parted. I counted a dozen or so meteors streaking overhead before heading inside to wake up my wife and daughter. We bundled up, and once they rubbed the sleep from their eyes, counted dozens more Leonids before calling it a night.

Months later, my daughter, who must have been 3 at the time, reminded me she had worn her Teletubby slippers outside and made me promise to wake her up the next time the stars were shooting. It’s a promise she reminds me of just about every time I mention the next upcoming meteor shower.

There hasn’t been as spectacular a shower since, but I keep looking up — as I did Tuesday night, when the Perseids were supposed to peak.

I saw one so-called Earth-grazer — a long, slow, especially bright streak — on my way back to work after dinner, and I thought it might be a good night.

But all the way home later — nothing.

For the record, it’s not easy to star-gaze from a bike. I almost rear-ended several parked cars and clobbered a pothole I didn’t see because I was too busy rubber-necking.

Once I got home, I stood out in the lawn (wondering if a neighbor might call the po-po), but I saw only one more Earth-grazer before turning in (and getting turned in).

Oh, well.

One thing I’ve learned about star-gazing is that all sorts of things can conspire against you: clouds, moonlight, your neighbor’s unnecessarily bright outside light. And sometimes the sky is clear, but the big event doesn’t come close to expectations.

All you can do is keep looking up. And if you’re on a bike at the time, at least glance ahead from time to time, too.