ambers torch treasures
I had very little motivation to move myself away from the bed this morning. An infrared camera would have shown that just inches above the covers the temperature began to plummet. Why should I submit myself to my typical Tuesday morning ride when Mother Nature would seek revenge for my bitterness last week? By the time I had suited up and left the house, the temperature stood at 28ºF. When I arrived home an hour and a half later, it was 36ºF.
What’s clear, I discovered, is that I am ill-equipped for cold hands. I had two pairs of gloves, but the liners still surrendered to the wind of high speeds. As I began to climb, and my racing through the wind backed off considerably, it was obvious that I was regaining feeling in my fingers. So, new, winter-worthy gloves are on the to-do list.
Traces of determination and discipline are hidden in me, I warn you. I enjoyed the weird looks a few motorists gave me as I was departing town. However, given the peacefulness of the morning, none of the weird looks appeared to border on angst. Angst leads to rage. Leads to Hit-And-Runs. No good.
It’s a wonderful feeling breathing heavily, with condensing air fuming from your mouth, as you crest the mountain back to town. Forcing the cold on yourself is the best method to appreciate being warm-blooded. Plus, only warm-blooded creatures are able to blog, as far as I know.