There is a change in the air, a change in the thinking, and a change in the riding. It was subtle at first, but it is much more noticeable now. Leg warmers-over-embro shift to embro-over-skin. Balaclavas curtsy and retire, paving the way for cotton caps.
Greenery. Warmth…relative, of course. Did a bird just chirp? The snow bank wallows in its self-loathing. Like the Banbino’s 714th homerun, it asserts its authority in an insecure way. While a homerun is a homerun, without the promise of more the vicious grasp it has on our psyche crumbles.
Cobbles and dirt come to mind; it is almost time.
Fitness reminds us that it has not left us, nor left us with a surplus. Training hours begin to tick lower; intensity begins to tick higher. Light shines on the cyclist, literally. An agreement has been made—you ride harder and I will retire later. Prove you are worth the rays.
The morning was covered in a blanket of dampness when I awoke; the scent—Spring.