Yesterday morning it looked as if there would be only a flurry- a few dry, dusty, scattered and lonely flakes, as if the prediction of 3-16 inches was a gross exaggeration. But, just like clockwork, by the time I returned home from running errands, the snow came, as fast and as furious as a Roman invasion. Relentless... unforgiving..., the snow fell thickly. It was difficult to see through it...

Being an "Upstater" I was happy to see the snow. Every time I see it, it brings me back to the innocent times in my life, times when as kids we would play in the snow. The mere fact that the white stuff had fallen was more than reason enough to peel ourselves away from the Atari, make a snow fort, and re-enact some ancient battle....

As I type, the snow still falls on this blustery Sunday morning, on Long Island, where we've accumulated about 14 inches thus far. But only yesterday, as the depths reached a mere 4 or 5 inches, I made the call...


The phone rings...
Gary: gets on the horn, "Hello?"
Dan: belts out, "10pm or 6 inches, which ever comes first!"
Gary: "Huh?"
Dan: "If the snow hits 6 inches, we ride. If it gets to be 10 pm, we ride... what ever snow we have."
Gary: "uh... alright."

That settled, I plopped myself down on my couch to watch a movie. After the movie I checked the progress of the snow to see where we were at. I wasn't expecting much. But then the surprise came. The Roman invasion had picked up the pace of its campaign, moving forth with even greater ferver.

12 inches of snow lay at my doorstep. Surprised, I called Gary.


Phone rings....
Gary: gets on the horn, "Hello?"
Dan: "Ready to ride!"
Gary: "Are you nuts!?"
Dan: "Totally! I will be there in a half hour, gonna take 20 minutes to get geared up"
Gary: "Ok, you're nuts!"

I hustled to throw on my gear. Excited about getting on two wheels again, delving into the thick white that would cover the roads rendering them almost car-free, I dressed, bolted out the door, and plunged my clipless twelve inches into their first interaction with snow. Walking around the house to the garage, I trudged through a respectable snowfall. A snowfall which continued to accumulate.

My Trek 6000 practically jumped off of its hook to greet me at the garage door, eager to go out and play. I bounded to the end of my unshoveled driveway.



The roadway had been plowed many hours earlier. Eight inches of snow remained on its asphalt surface. Getting started was tough but, once you were rolling the fun started. Fishtailing all over the place, the goal evolved from going straight into simply going where the snow would to take you. I reached the end of the block, did an impromptu track stand in the pile of snow the plows had left behind crossing my street. I would have to pick up more speed in order to cut through the next burm of snow. Bursting out of that pile I started spinning and actually picked up a decent amount of momentum. Charging onward, cutting through snow drifts, mindless of the arctic conditions, I was on Gary's block in no time.

He was finishing up snow blowing.


Gary grabbed his Cannondale F300 and Jimmy borrowed Cori's Trek 7000. His block remained unplowed which made it a struggle to get going. Progress was slow but eventually we made it to Seaman Ave. Seaman was reasonably well plowed, so we picked up speed cruising a road that was almost completely free of cars. Gary and I joked about the drivers of those few vehicles that were on the road, and I am sure the drivers of those same vehicles goofed on us. Something about being on our bikes that they just don't understand.....



As we passed two county snow plows pulled off to the roadside, we offered them a tow. Their drivers laughed!

We turned around to head back... Gary off to his family to celebrate his fiftysomethingth birthday and me off to the snowy north to shovel my driveway. It had been the best ride of the season.

We had been twelve again.