Neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night.

Yesterday morning it was 35 degrees with the weather (person) promising highs in the fifties by afternoon. So I was eager to ride to work. I sacrificed the warmth and bulk of my leather cocoon to endure the morning cold in favor of a more pleasant afternoon ride home and wore my signature blue jean jacket with a heavy sweatshirt underneath and my insulated leather work gloves instead of my new electric heated gantlets. I left the house at five a.m. with a strong breeze blowing.
About five miles into the daily commute a very light snow began to fall. Asking Clyde for advice, he answered with his typical machismo bravado. “Press on! We can do it. Let’s go, let’s go.” And so we did.
Crossing the halfway point of my seventeen mile trek, the snow turned from intermittent flakes to an all-out snow shower and the temperature dropped considerably. I should have headed the warning of The Keepers and realized the strong breeze was a cold front moving in.
The road was getting wet and if it got colder before I got to work the road would freeze. Leaving Clyde, myself, and the 850 pound machine helplessly stranded, or worse.
Do I turn around and possibly run straight into the storm? Or do I continue on to hopefully stay ahead of the worst to come? “Com’on! We’ve been through worse for a lot longer.” Clyde yelled. Knowing my ageing, deafening, and tinnitus ringing ears would be further hampered by the sound of the bike and the sleet now bouncing of my helmet.
I was now hunkered down behind the windshield praying the sleet didn’t stick on the road or the temperature didn’t drop further.
Passing my friend’s house I still managed to give the obligatory wake-up beep from my horn and noticed the snow and sleet had let up. Though not completely. The road was now dry once more and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Now my hands were getting cold and my fingertips were starting to hurt from the cold.
Traveling through the small hamlet of Toby I thought about the long high hill that awaits me at the other end. Fearful of, once again, running into the weather I just passed through, at the high elevation of Thompson Hill summit.
As I climbed the road to the crest of Thompson Hill my fears were confirmed. The snow and sleet began to pelt my face again and the thought of the road conditions ahead played on my wellbeing.
Cresting the hill I was relieved to see the road was dry but wouldn’t stay that way for long. “Five more minutes Clyde and we’ll have made it.” By now my fingers were numb and using the clutch and front brake was a cautious and painful chore.
One more obstacle and it will be a more straight forward ride for the next two, or so, miles.
Just past the top of Thompson hill lay an “S” turn on a downhill slope with a stop sign right at the end. Slowing down to a crawl I noticed the road was still fairly dry and I maneuvered the “S” turn and stop sign as usual. Though the pain in my arthritic fingers was now intense.
The final two miles were a relief as the snow and sleet has let up once more.
I pulled into the parking lot and shut the bike off and began to chuckle at myself and the previous follies. I didn’t even try to get my helmet off and the simple task of getting my keys out of my pocket to get inside the plant was a painful struggle.
Once inside I ran to the nearest sink and ran warm water on my throbbing fingertips until I could get my helmet off.
I stowed my lunch for that day, in the lunchroom refrigerator and as I was doing so I could hear the sleet start up again on the metal roof.
My employers are gracious hosts and allowed me to bring my bike inside the plant during such conditions. And as I walked back out to retrieve my iron horse the seat had filled with sleet.
I quote my friend Jarrod in his observations of bikers… “All bikers are a little crazy. Who else would sit on top of a hot sparking motor with six gallons of gasoline between their legs.”
Hang in There
Rich