Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow on Saturday. I didn't give it much thought, because no matter what the Prophet of Punxsutawney prognosticates, winter either lasts six more weeks or is over in a month and a half around here. And what follows it usually isn't pretty.
One could believe spring was right around the corner when the weather forecasters over the weekend told us we'd see warm rain Tuesday and Wednesday. I didn't quite get the fixed gear down and start lubing the chain, but I thought about it. Yet here we are on Tuesday morning looking at steadily falling snow, and the schools are all closed. The rain will come tomorrow, we are told, but mixed with snow. The theme of this endless winter continues. It is mild but snowing. I should drag my wife out to the glades out back to use this layer of fluffy stuff on top of the firm base.
Cycling is not a pure pleasure most of the time. It's hard to relax completely into it when it can evoke a reaction from some passing jackass at any moment. In the woods, one can focus purely on the personal endeavor of getting from here to there under one's own power. On the road, there's always that threat of audience reaction. Born performers thrive on audience reaction. In the right mood I have the mental middle finger up and just go for it. But that in itself is an extra layer of resistance. You can be right and still lose. You can have a better way of life and still be overwhelmed by the mass of people who won't or can't take it up.
It's still worth doing. In fact, it needs to be done. There are more reasons to do it than not to do it. But not right now. There's skiing.
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