I biked to my old office this morning. It was very foggy, 30°F. Chris rolled in at 0630 and we hit the road. It was like old times, dodging potholes, talking about what was new. While at a stop light, a minivan driver commended us for being diligent to our biking and thanked us for being very visible with our blinkies and reflective bits.
We cruised to downtown to the 11th Street Bridge, which is still only open to bikes and pedestrians. About the time I realized that the ground looked rather sparkly, my rear wheel decided to try and catch up with the front wheel by passing me on the left. I put a foot down and hollered "Woooaaaahhh!" as I went into a 3-point slide. I slowed to nearly a stop before gravity finally took over. I looked up just in time to see Chris do the same thing, only with more speed and less grace. He was a little scratched up and a few pedestrians had a bit of a chuckle at our expense, but we were ok. We decided to walk a piece, only to be passed by an older fellow with a white beard on a city bike. He muttered something, probably about us being amateurs. Hardly.
The frost was thick on everything organic or metal between Portland Ave and Port of Tacoma Road. So thick, that I thought the concrete sidewalk of the Lincoln Ave bridge had been re-poured, it was so smooth and bright. Chris commented about his bike commute during the flooding we had in the area. Much of the sand and debris from the high water along Pacific Highway is still there, including a few large river rocks. Good times.
After saying hello to some friends heading in to the office, I headed back home before the frost on my sweater thawed too much. Rolling through the back-roads of Fife, a duck flushed from the marsh grass as I rode by. A hawk screeched as it glided over the road ahead. A frog chirped. Water rushed from a culvert into the stream. It was comfortably inspiring outing on a momentous day in America.