Never flirt with thoughts that winter is over in February.
But when it’s warm enough to just wear a hoody, and buds are already bursting from the trees along our boardwalk, it’s hard not to.
Sure enough, it snowed this week. In fact, it was so cold, and snowed so much, Tuesday was an official snow day; schools and universities closed, workers hunkering down to do their jobs from home.
It’s tempered the last couple of days, although not enough to thaw the road hockey courts, now encrusted with trampled frozen snow and slush, impenetrable to shovels.
No road hockey today…
So when a few of the Fuggitivi pronounced an intention to ride on Sunday morning, I was on board. Who knew how far the legs would actually take me, but the spirit was willing.
The thawing sunshine warms the days to almost six degrees, but it’s still below freezing at night. Puddles of melt turn to ice, slushy snow encrusts into a slippery moonscape.
So the ride plans were put on hold. Perhaps a later departure, when the sun had done its warming work?
All kitted up, with no place to ride…
But my window was nigh. It was now or never.
Norco was made for this, and off we went. Our goal was modest; easy pace and home in two hours.
Norco prepares to go icelocross.
It’s amazing how, over the winter months, the intention to keep riding dissolves into a desire to stay warm and dry inside. And now the legs were paying the price for those evening Netflix indulgences.
The first rides of the season can be discouraging. The thighs burn long before they’re supposed to. The GPS computer advances far too slowly. The cyclists coming the other way all look faster, more trim, like they haven’t succumbed to the temptations of Netflix.
Still, it was good to be out again, even if it meant skidding through a few patches of icelocross. It can only get easier and rides more frequent from here.
Even some roads didn’t see a plow.
Except, there’s more snow in the forecast…
