… but last week felt like winter enough to me. Certainly from the bike, listening to the trail crunch under skittering tires.
The puddles were frozen over, crushed and crinkled and splintered into slivers and scalene shards. I followed the guys up the Two Quarry climb, through the chill of shaded hillsides and the fog of my own breath and into frosted clearings—glades? Can I say glades?—clear to me only in the slim crescents between the blur of my wind-tears and the glare of the sudden light. I love this place! I thought, and, I can’t feel my face!