Up here in the Great White North it usually remains cold enough that the snow gets packed onto road surfaces to the point it's almost like white asphalt.
I'll ride the Cross-Check on roads or packed trails, the fixed 1x1 works well in loose stuff.
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This is Africa, 1943. War spits out its violence overhead and the sandy graveyard swallows it up. Her name is King Nine, B-25, medium bomber, Twelfth Air Force. On a hot, still morning she took off from Tunisia to bomb the southern tip of Italy. An errant piece of flak tore a hole in a wing tank and, like a wounded bird, this is where she landed, not to return on this day, or any other day.