Fuck, I wish I had some glasses. Sure my eyes were doing a good job at melting the fast falling snow, but it wasn’t doing much for my vision. I got down in my drops, turned my head to the left and watched my dancing shadow next to me. The shadow was close to perfect, legs moving rhythmically, my arched upper body motionless and low, independent of the work going on right below.

I turned back and looked at the road, focused my attention on my body. It was a different story there. I felt a lump of vomit bouncing in my throat, my legs screamed, “Murderer! Stop! We are through”. I ignored it all, got out of the saddled and climbed into the beginning of a snowstorm. Beirut was singing his version of a baltic love song and I looked down at my snow covered legs, still upset but continuing to corporate.

“You can’t hold this pace James. Are you not 12 miles from home, is it not the beginning of the season, and don’t you feel that cramp in your left calf?”. I settled back into my seat, found my rhythm and smiled as the snow slowly melted on my face.