The View (but no Barbara Walters)
No, instead, this is the view from my front door at 5:45 AM, today. The temperature was 24.5F, according to the digital thermometer on the front porch, and snow was coming down in a light, but steady, fashion.
I threw on my usual "cool morning" garb, and added an additional sleeveless jersey and my Dakine snowboard gloves, and took off. The roads were slushy and wet, for the most part, with occasional snowy/icy patches. Nothing my normal tires at their regular air pressure couldn't handle.
And, that's a good thing, since I still have the fenders on, and I know there's no way to put the snow chains on without removing them. Before I got to work, I had enough snow packed in between the tires and fenders that I could feel a slight drag, so I know the chains would rub (if you could even mount the tire with them on).
The temp had climbed all the way up to 26F for the ride home, so I wore everything this afternoon that I had worn this morning (a first for the year). It wasn't too uncomfortable; I always overdress and end up sweaty, anyway. If I don't, my hands and feet get cold. And, I'd much rather sweat a bit than have numb digits.
It was cold enough to make the bike noisy. Everything that moves on the bike made some sort of squeak or creak, including my old joints.
That reminds me of a story.
Once, when I was still working at the shop down in Parker, I had a lady come in with a creaking sound on her bike. It only happened when she pedalled. Since it was an aluminium-framed road bike with a cartridge bottom bracket, I pulled the BB out, greased the bottom bracket shell threads, and torqued the BB back in place.
The lady came back about a week later, and said the bike was still creaking. As we discussed what I had already done to eliminate the problem, I offered up a possible explanation for why my fix hadn't worked.
"Maybe it's orthopedic," I said, pointing at her knee.
Now, I was in my late 30's at the time, no spring chicken in the bike shop world I assure you. and this lady was maybe 4 or 5 years older than I. She was certainly not as comfortable with her age as I was with mine, though.
"It's not my knees," she said in a voice about two octaves higher and quite a bit louder than it had been just moments before, while giving me the "how dare you?!" look, hands on hips.
Of course, I just busted out laughing, I was so startled by her vehement reaction.
I did get rid of her creaking (by doing the same procedure, but using Anti-seize rather than grease on the threads), but she always talked to someone else whenever she came in, from then on.
I'm such a "people person", sometimes.