...that is what a rider does in winter. Waiting for the mercury to rise enough that visors are not completely fogged...Hoping for warmth enough that fingers do not remain stuck in a grip. Enduring the pall of darkness with the expectation of light.
On my early morning commute I reminisced of sunset chases through the farmlands, sun creeping to the horizon, the cold enveloping but not succumbing me. The memory of early morning rides with dewy seats and hope of breakfast with tea to warm me.
I endure the winter with hope of spring.