The Morning Commute

Whilst perusing the hallowed halls of the local grocery store, City Market (semi-affectionately referred to as “Shifty Markup”), I stumbled upon a disheveled, uninterested looking young man in an overly large sweatshirt that read: “Not everyone here is a gaper.” Gapers: we love to hate them. They come in droves, clog our streets, eat all our eggs and bread and pay our bills. And right now, they’re lemming it down the I-70 corridor from the east into our county like ants into an anthill. I can see the stream of headlights from the top floor of our apartment, pouring down the highway in a ribbon of halogen. Why? Because it’s Friday night, for one. And, we finally got a decent dump last night — nine to twelve inches, depending.

I know this is off the cleanse topic, but I had the most sporty bike ride to work this morning — pretty much the most entertaining yet. And all because of the snow that fell (and blew) last night. When I went to bed around 9:45 last night, the snow had piled up on the cars, a few solid inches or so. At that point, the wind was also whipping the new snow into the kind of blizzard that would have put Dairy Queen to shame.

When I arose at the peaceful hour of 4:29 this morning, I stumbled out the front door and into another dimension. I had somehow timed my exit to the entrance of a massive gust of wind which swept through with the power of a giant erasure. The world before me — the nose in front of my eyes — disappeared into whiteness. I attempted to mount on my trusty steed and bust through the mounds of powder that covered what once was a road. The snow swirled around me as if I stood in a very cold witch’s cauldron. It felt as sinister each time I tried to ride; my wheels would wobble and the bike would tip as if snow monsters were tugging me under. Great globs of snow stuck to my tires and made them appear made of the stuff.

Yes, it’s true, despite rumors which spread like snowflakes on a winter wind: we do have a car. At this point, I could have (should have?) — gasp — driven. But seriously, why stop now? Instead, I gave up trying to ride with a great sigh that was drowned out by another powerful burst of wind and walked to the main road.

At the intersection of the road to our condo with the main road into the subdivision of Dillon Valley, all of us condo-ers must attempt a semi-blind uphill left turn. Most of the time, I can shoot the gap — but the main vein hadn’t been plowed yet. A few brave souls had crawled out of Dillon Valley into the blizzard above…it looked as though someone had run a fork through mashed potatoes. I gamely pushed my bike through the thick, tracked snow and across.

Whew. I looked to my right, to my usual sneak route through a church parking lot, around a fence and through a quiet road of townhouses. The parking lot looked like a deep sea of marshmallow cream. So, I took a right at the light and headed downhill on Highway 6. Luckily, only myself and a few plow drivers — gazing unbelieving at the crazy girl on the bike in a skirt in a blizzard — were on the icy, snowpacked road to the next light. My bike fishtailed every half second or so, and I had a foot hanging down just in case I needed to abandon ship. Great gusts of angry wind whizzed across the vacant lot to my right, knocking me sideways and pelting me with snow that hit my jacket like frozen peas.

At the light, I turned right, slightly uphill and into the screaming wind. I screamed right back into it, but I had a frog in my throat that hadn’t woken up yet and my voice was drowned out immediately. A giant plow scraped by on the other side of the road. I looked over just in time to see sheer disbelief and a hefty beard painted across his face.

At Starbucks, the parking lot was a pristine sheet of white, glowing creamy gold in the streetlight. I turned the corner carefully and mashed on it, flying through a good foot of powder on my way to the door, sending up a little plume on either side of my rear wheel. Nothing like fresh tracks and a sketchy bike ride to wake one up in the morning. In fact, it’s better than caffeine — especially when you’re on a cleanse, and caffeine is off the menu.