Saturday, March 14, 2009

A Lemon of Rain

I began this morning's ride with warm summer legs and met up with the group, which, because of the dire weather predictions, was only four of my teammates. Once out on the roads together, we moved quickly but comfortably like a double bass. It took us the better part of an hour to clean up our paceline, but eventually it did and we were rotating smoothly, powerfully, pulling wind and sliding over like a waterwheel. And then, as suddenly as a dry branch in a silent forest, it was colder and raining. Our shoes filled with the meltwater and when we took our hands from the bars to make a fist, we squeezed a lemon of rain from our fist. Every leaf in my body turned brown and blew from its branch. We finished together after more than three hours sitting frozen in the saddle. My fingers and toes were frozen so that, when I finally did get home, I felt I was walking on foal legs, unbuckling and unzipping with soft hooves.