Last year February was anything but blah. In fact, with temperatures lilting between thirty and fifty F., February of 2006 presented us over 200 miles of cycling. Complimenting such moderate temperatures, February road surfaces were unseasonably dry and free of ice.
February OSix was pretty typical of Februarys over the past several years in the Upper Left Hand Corner of Illinois. For nearly ten years, we took our dose of cold weather and snow in late November and early December. Then, as each New Year unfolded, we were teased by the hint of Spring.
But this February, the pigeons rushed home to roost. El Nino vanished, the jet stream dropped in out of Canada and the snows of old man arctic returned to remind us of Februarys past. This February we begged off cycling and are seriously considering snow shoes.
Our dilemma is we’ve been spoiled by outdoor cycling, and work on a trainer is just that. No amount of virtual digital sensory reality tech stuff can compensate for the crisp air in the lungs and the beauty of an afternoon winter light. We’re stuck in a funk between indoors and out.
Today’s lunch special at Mort’s was Italian beef sandwiches laced with pepperincini peppers, Mrs. Mike’s chips and two cups of jus. I was tucking into the first half of my sandwich when a friendly February chill walked through the door and slid up into the stool beside me.
With the first bite of his sandwich, the chill proclaimed, "Fondaman, there are a lot of calories in these sandwiches and chips. (pause & chew) Did you hear that Andrew rode his bike to work yesterday?"
"Yoric, we had a very big snow yesterday, and the thermometer hardly broke zero."
"I know. How psychotic? Never would I do that."
"I hope he was smart enough to get a lift home."
"I don’t really know, but I’m certain he must have. These Italian beef sandwiches sure pack the calories."
The caloric echo pegged my anxiety about not riding a bike these past two weeks. And, I was desperate to enjoy my favorite sandwich and chip combo without remorse. Psycho Andrew was out there on his bike to torture me. Would this atypical typical February ever relax its grip?
Some folks get all nostalgic about the good old days when we had "a real winter." Some sophisticated Midwesterners, high and dry away from seacoasts, prefer the coming of global warming. Why winterize ourselves away from our beloved Upper Left Hand Corner of Illinois and its glorious backdrop for bicycling?
Per me, I hope the Good Lord will soon brush the roads clear of ice and salt and raise the ambient to thirty five degrees F.
There’s still time to fill our lungs with crispy fresh winter air and marvel at the winter light in spite of a wee burr in the saddle. Perhaps before March we’ll be back to normal—whatever that is.
