Cognizant of the likelihood that the Minuteman Frost Fair will wind up as early as tomorrow, I took the 1987 GT Karakoram in its full studded-Nokian regalia out to Depot Park, Bedford, in the early afternoon, clear skies, bright sun, temperatures in the upper 30s. The cracks in the pavement on Broadway were white with road salt dust; I'll need to think twice about which bikes to subject to that, until we've had a good rainstorm.
Bare trees did their skeleton dance for places in the sun, even though that will profit them nothing till they leaf out for the season. Some tango with lianas.
When the snow has melted on the trampoline, Spring will come bouncing in.
Rolling down the hill towards the converted railroad bridge across Route 128.
Winter is the best time to see the beaver lodge at Tophet Swamp. As the old song put it, "the man who wrote 'Home Sweet Home' never was a married man"... but he might have been a beaver.
Continued across Route 128 and into Bedford. Paused at Elm Brook.
Paid my respects to the Buddliner, at the turnaround.
Localized warping of the space-time continuum reported in Bedford.
Cranking away towards home, I pulled up short at Peepers Pond, East Lexington, distracted by an apparition: a transparent tetrahedron pushing up through the ice like the conning tower of a glass submarine. Further inspection suggested that it was a hockey net that had partially sunk, then been captured by refreezing ice, a victim of the end of the Frost Fair.
rod