It’s been an unusually warm week, the snow is mostly gone, and the wind is whipping up the remaining sand on the roads and driving it into every exposed orifice. It’s a gritty grey and brown season, possibly my least favorite. It’s only saving grace is the temperature, and I feel lighter than air having shed many layers of clothing, riding my new zippy bike with slick tires.
Spring fever seems to have hit drivers hard, ’cause I don’t think it’s the socks that are causing them to hang out their windows yelling various objectionable and objectifying remarks (with the possible exception of the one that yelled something like “yaaah! sexy tights! sexy bike!). Still, being honked at, no matter what the reason, takes a little zip out of my ride.
But how much can one really complain about spring? It means I’m not a lone cyclist anymore. When I ask friends if they want to go on a ride, they respond enthusiastically instead of with the old stink eye. It’s hard to stay in a bad mood when you arrive at a house party to be greeted by a backyard full of bikes and a house full of contagiously exuberant bike polo players. And it’s impossible to be dour after an easter sunday that included a bike collective jammed full of fascinating women fixing up their rides, followed by a fire & dance party with good friends, on the edge of cliff under the northern lights. Methinks this is just the beginning of a fabulous season.
Welcome back, spring. I’ve missed your gritty glory!