Sprung

 

Rolling past crocuses in Vancouver.

 

We’re well past the middle of March and, finally, we are getting tantalizing tastes of spring: daylight savings time; the odd warm day; a craving for burgers on the grill; a burning desire to ride.

The Norco prevented the winter from being a total write-off. Although, at the end of the day, getting out for a ride in the cold and darkness is mostly about overcoming a loathing for being in the cold and dark.

Now that spring officially arrives in a matter of hours, the Norco is seeing some pavement as the Franco bides its time for the winter’s grime to be washed down storm drains. But it’s getting antsy.

Friday, with some time in the bank and sunshine in the sky, it was a riding day. Franco beckoned, and its tires were pumped. But some minor mechanical adjustments gave pause, and she was rehung on the wall.

Norco is a fine bike. She’s a blast on the trails and in the snow. And she performs admirably on the road. But her lines are nowhere near as lithe as Franco, her giddy-up nowhere near as sprightly. She ploughs; Franco dances.

Friday’s effort was a modest 54 kms. It’s a far cry from two years ago when I had time on my hands and plenty more rides in my legs. But at least it was something. And the budding trees, popping crocuses and warming rays of sun portent more rides to come.