A New Appreciation of Snow vs Rain

Two weeks of snow and ice piled on the pavement seemed like a blessing - and a significant improvement over freezing cold endless rain.  Today, the rain is falling, snow is melting, streets are clearing, and a sigh of relief hisses from the bridges as cyclists shake off their forced hibernation:  we can put rubber to road once again!  Stir crazy, anxiety-ridden and packing on the pounds, I pedaled a mere 5 miles today, the most in three days.  

It looks like tomorrow will be a day for actual mileage.  

I have a sudden renewed appreciation for roads, endless miles of them that I am permitted to pedal.  And the other kind of road:  the type where my gas-guzzling hybrid can cruise at a quick 75 to take me away from the familiar surroundings of the city.  This is not to insinuate that my beloved cycle has not taken me to far away beautiful places; it has.  Here in Portland, in Flagstaff, Tucson, even in New Jersey, I found serenity and beauty mere pedal strokes away.   But there is something special about watching the topography change rapidly and winding up in a region whose biodiversity varies greatly from the city you woke in that morning.

Although, if that is "special", then "exhilarating" is the appropriate description for taking such a journey on a bike.  

To ride 70 miles and find yourself a world away from the surroundings that greeted you in the morning.  To ride for hours and summit a mountain and see forever, yet no city starting point is in view.  To know that your own strength, your own drive, your own sweat propelled you to a pristine environment is awe-inspiring.  Suddenly, the world can be conquered.  My body, my strength, it can climb mountains.  Freedom.  Freedom of knowing that when the engine blows, gas prices rise, and traffic jams stall, I can still escape to an old growth forest.  I can, of my own volition, without creating any sound pollution, air pollution, without contributing to wars on foreign lands, without playing the rules of mass popular culture, I can burrow deep into a water-filled canyon.   With my own two legs, one 18 pound, silent bicycle and a stock pile of water and nourishment, I can sit by a secluded mountain lake, or even make it to the coast.  

I can do all this on two human powered, heart pounding, sweating, slimming, strengthening wheels.  That is, as long as the roads stay clear of ice and snow.