I suspended the park 'n' ride commute when the cellist came home for her winter break. She only had ten days, and lots to do, so I was not going to take time getting home from work.
The day after she arrived she went right into a midnight mass gig at a Catholic church about an hour away. And they do mean midnight. We ended up getting to sleep around 3 a.m. But the gig was a hoot. She was working with a skillful keyboardist/choir director/vocalist. Watching them crunch arrangements together during a rehearsal right before the show -- I mean the service -- was the best part of the trip.
The cellist and I rode on Christmas Day. It was 60 degrees.
On December 29th it snowed. That ends my park and ride because I have no place to park. And if the path gets rutted up and refrozen it's slow going for anyone, even on 4-inch tires (which I don't have).
The new month in the new year brought the usual town government meetings, too. So, a day at a time, I waddle into the winter, one day after another with no exercise except a little splitting and carrying of firewood.
One interesting customer ordered a Surly Cross Check with some custom modifications. Additional accessories and tweaks will go on for months.
Two inches of rain forecast for tomorrow will bomb the ski trails back to November. Then no one knows...
I decided years ago that the legendary New England winter was not the average. Climate change has increased the number of wimpy ones, but the real epics, with snow drifts to the second floor, were probably always anomalies. Legends are made of extremes. The winter may not always deserve fame, but New England will always find a way to be annoying.