Winter Spring

Today a small window opened and fifty five degrees of warmth blew in (at 20-25mph from the southwest).  The snow, so carefully layered on the ground over the past three months, flowed into storm drains, pooled in low spots on the road and generally disappeared in a whoosh of springtime euphoria.

Still a bit sore from my morning ski two days ago, I jumped through the opening into spring as well, tweaking my rear derailleur cable tension (just installed some new, semi-sealed cables last week) at 6am, digging through the drawers for my springtime gear and spare tire, and loading the bicycle into the car.  With skis on top of me, and my bike in back, I was set for whatever silent sport the weather forecast offered.

After a winter of cold slate skies, there was something both glorious and sad about the warm tailwind pushing me along Old Highway 20 east towards Dubuque.  About 48 hours earlier I was skiing in 9 degrees of crystaline magic, thinking about cold toes and wondering if I waxed too cold for the day.  Now I was descending the line of Sundown Hill, thinking of past experience of potholes on fast corners, listening for traffic and feeling like this was just too easy.

The snow was completely gone now.  The wind had dried most of the roads and, at the bridge just west of Graf, the ice was a jumbled mess of slabs hung up on the rocks.  Bittersweet thoughts: it would likely be another nine months before I would ski again in Iowa.  That's the beauty of winter sports, be it skiing or snowshoeing or skating; we learn to look forward to the cold, the snow; the approaching cold front from the Rockies and the moisture pushing up from the Gulf aren't threats but promises, chances to touch the feeling of flying through the forest without effort or sound.

I climb the hill past the bridge.  It pitches at first, forcing me into the lowest gear for a bit.  A glance at the computer tells me I'm putting out a good effort, around 350watts.  'Duh' my quads say.  I can feel a tiny bit of ache in the legs yet, but it's sandwiched between strong feelings of euphoria.  I'm back outside on the bike, I'm riding up the climb.  Life is pretty darned good.