Riding Hopes Dashed

Before I opened my eyes I could hear the snowplow clawing along the pavement, telling me there would be no time on the scooter or motorcycle today. I’m weary of the cold air biting at my flesh, the gray skies drowning the color from my sight, the realization I’ve become a prisoner of the harsh whims of nature.

The dreaded wintry mix had arrived and there was nothing I could do. Winter and riding regress into memory and on into myth. I’m so tired of it all.

Yet I realize I am powerless over the weather. Winter and riding are merely a pipe dream of an adventurer growing smaller in my rearview mirror. I’m sliding toward fair-weather riding and I don’t like it.

I need to ride.

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