|My bike in the early evening today. It was very cold.|
There he is, all alone in the Warde Hall bike rack. It was damp earlier, this week, but warm—and the damp caused me to park Francis inside, but didn’t dissuade me from riding.
Today, it was finally dry. But also cold. Not cool—this was Arctic air sweeping in on stiff north and west winds—the kind of cold that stings, that threatens to crystallize your tears, that causes college students to scurry across the central plaza like cockroaches after a light is switched on.
It’s above zero, but well below 20. The Gazette’s web site, at 10:30 Thursday night, lists the actual air temperature as 13. The biting wind makes it feel much colder. And it wasn’t much warmer today.
Yet, I rode. Not that big a surprise, since I wear winter appropriate layers that include warm long underwear. And, while I would much prefer a pleasant spring ride with the temperature oh, say, 40 or 50 degrees warmer—I could enjoy the ride.
Really. I mean it. I’m not as forlorn as poor Francis.