All day we watched the snow fall, flutter, accumulate. After leaving work, I churned up the EDT and shouted greetings to the immobile cars on Highway 50. All was white; me, my bike, the trees bent low over the trail. The snow stuck to my front wheel and curled off the fork like waves into a prow, except backwards.
We didn't make it out of the K Lot before brakes froze, derailers wouldn't shift and tire pressure needed correction. Timidly, I lead the crew down the boat launch road and, when the bikes seemed trust worthy, broke onto trail. Tires gripped snow and we climbed. Up to MET and the horse camp, down XXX, around to Fleming, following the lower entrance road until it ended in unknown trails, back tracked to the steep drop to Bristol, and up the first road back to MET.
The whole loop was rideable. Rideable. Even Peter could have ridden it, but he was busy painting RG's toenails.
Pressing a track into the virgin snow was as satisfying as drawing a finger through the thick frosting of a wedding cake. We struggled to maintain momentum. The penalty for dabbing was a shoe clumped in snow that wouldn't clip into the pedal.
Dashing through the snow, laughing all the way.
Mother Rye greeted us as we rolled back into the Lott. The transition was quick, as no one wanted to step in the cold. Though we were early, the place was empty, we sat at the bar. Mother Rye shared her secret for keeping taco shells limber: the taco bitches fluff them. Ms. Chickenbake proposed the handle Taco Fluffer to replace B. The Hi-Fi was rocking and when Loverboy - Turn Me Loose came on Councilman sang the whole thing, even going for the high notes. It was awesome.