Saturday morning! A glorious time to be awake! Usually. Sadly, in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake, this particular Saturday was forecast to be spoiled by the first harbinger of the seasons frozen onslaught - a high of 32F and snow.
"No matter!", our tepid cycling protagonist quaffed, and engaged in the hour-long winter pre-riding ritual of donning approximately eighteen layers of various forms of synthetic and natural fibers.
Spotting former (penniless) bike messengers turned (penniless) bike racers 101. Now accepting contributions for a pair of Sidi Hydro boots.
The air was crisp and thick with the vapor of the recent storm, upper elevations of the Wasatch still shrouded in precipitous low clouds. Day in and out climbing of the litany of HC climbs surrounding Salt Lake City is decidedly over until spring.
In the midst of the fog of winter riding stoke, tragedy struck in the form of a disintegrating tire. Mechanically crippled, the boy and his velocipede limped home to finish the work of the day aboard the stationary mistress of mental malevolence.
Perhaps today will be an improvement.