brrrrrr....

The weather has changed. Apparently the Universe decided that the temperature must be lower in December than November, simply as a matter of principle. That, or knowing that I had inadequate riding gear, dropped the temperature by 70 degrees just as I was leaving the house.

In the words of 101 Dalmatians,
My nose was froze.
My toes was froze.

Wanting to turn around and go back was not an option for AT LEAST 15 yards. At that point, not turning around became a steady argument with myself. For about 2 miles.

And then I simply wanted to die.

How do people in Siberia do it? CRAP it was cold. There was no one out there, it was 7 AM, after 15 minutes my hands were two solid blocks of ice. Nobody was there to see me turn around. No one was there to see me fail. Except me. And ffs, I had already defined chickening out as survival.

Just as I turned around, just as I hit the other side of the street... two small groups of riders passed me on the opposite side. Long-fingered riding gloves. Proper attire. Smirking.

Flippin' snobs.

A view of the bitter cold on my ride. You can't really see the snow, per se, but the sky is just thinking it. You know it is.