All is ice and slush, and the slush is impregnated with sand and salt. The roads, already little more than paved cart paths from Revolutionary times, have shrunk still further by the banks of snow pushed curbward by the plows.
It's a difficult time to ride.
And I've been off the bike too much in the last weeks, confined to train cars and bumpy bus seats. I've had my nose in books and magazines. I've walked from bus stop to office and shaken my head at the frozen mess and slowly withered inside.
So today I said, "FUCK IT!!" and rode my bike. It was 20 when I left the house. Once, trying to feather the pedals to avoid a squirrelly driver in front of me, the back wheel locked up. I felt like one of those fancy-dancy trick riders skidding with purpose. Then I rolled the cranks and set the wheel to spinning again. Slick.
Tonight I will run by the bike shop, purchase clips and straps and fenders and finish building my new wintertime cross bike. I can beat this slush. I can keep riding.
It's supposed to get up to 37 tomorrow. Practically spring.
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