If winter comes . . .

The blue sky today was preternaturally blue, like the vivid airless oils of some early Northern Renaissance paintings.  There was nothing, not an atom, between me and the Source.  Today, though, that sky was never one thing for more than a few minutes.  Dark, restless, full of rain-pregnant clouds all morning, it finally disgorged a fleeting deluge about noon.  Then the sun came out.  That amazingly violent blue was contrasted by billowing pure white clouds, and occasional iron-grey stratus layers racing on a SW-NE axis that made me wonder what I should do if there was another downpour.

But my Yankee instincts about weather (that’s New England Yankee, not (gag) New York Yankee) were right, and it rained no more.  Plenty of wind, though.  The average was only 3 mph, but there were gusts of up to 44 mph, and some of those hit me on the way out, helped me on the way home.

Riding right after a squall line goes through is a hoot.  The tires are wet all the time–they pick up enough moisture even from damp pavement to slide all over if you’re not careful, and the spray off the tires paints a wet stripe up the middle of your back, starting a little lower than that.  The winds whip you all over the place.  Ultimately they usually back around as they did today, beginning in the SE and swinging through the E and NE quadrants rapidly to NW.  And when they get there, it soon starts to cool down.

I loved dressing to ride today for 60°, in shorts, a warmer long-sleeve top with t-shirt underlayer (taking care of the core), no sweatband, fingerless gloves, all the accoutrements of early spring.  On my ride, incredibly, I met my stepdaughter, her husband, her mother-in-law, and my tiny new granddaughter Emma taking a stroll.  And Sean complimented me on my timing, saying it would be 29° by Saturday.  Screw Saturday.  Screw 29°.  I am riding today, and I love this vivid, protean, alive weather.  I felt like riding forever, into that savagely blue sky.  But I settled for 29 miles.

©Arnold J. Bradford, 2010.

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