It was just a couple of flakes. Huge and sticky, falling through the 33 degree air. They drifted then wavered before touching down on the warm ground as if they knew they would be immediately swallowed. Outkast blared through my headphones and I virtually? danced my bike down the singletrack, out of my neighborhood toward the city. I was halfway to work and they stopped again before I was much further.
The sight invigorated me. I've always loved the first snow. For most of my life it's been a sign of winter coming, of skiing. Skiing has always been the focus of my year. It hit me that I no longer ski much, that it hurts my knee and that I live in a place where the best places aren't too much fun for me to ski. It hit me that I was sad about this, that the flakes were a sign of something I had lost. Memories flooded back. I will always love skiing out west. What I miss here is the racing and it won't come back, is just memories. Master's racing holds nothing for me, nor does going back to what I've already done.
It was only a moment before I smiled; I thought about Jinglecross, and then the races coming fast, almost continuously after February. Only 3 months to get ready. This is a new beginning just as much as it always was.
Numbers. - Saturday I biked a tad over 4 hours on the fat bike, all within a few miles of my house. We received a bit of snow overnight, an inch or so. I had though...
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