Wednesday, December 21

The Charge of the Light Brigade



Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
-- Alfred Tennyson, The Charge of the Light Brigade

Sometimes getting home is the hardest part of the day. On Monday I got to work before the snow started falling. But by the time I was heading home there was a good coating on the ground and heavy flakes were swirling all around.

I cranked first north, and then east into the fray. Descending into Golden was treacherous. Traversing along Clear Creek I got sidetracked onto what should have been a closed trail and had to walk across shattered piles of ice that covered the trail by about three feet. Then I got on the Clear Creek Trail proper. I had to keep my speed in check going down the hills and around the curves.

As I cruised along the straights of the wind tunnel between the mesas I started to feel the cold. I decided I'd pause under the McIntyre bridge and pull on my balaclava and text Mandy to tell her I was running slow. And it was getting dark. I switched the Laser from blinding strobe to Real Genius mode. The snow hissed as it cut through the heavy flakes.

I sent my text and then yanked on my polypro headsleeve named for a peninsula in the Ukraine where the Light Brigade (wearing hand knitted versions of my polypro article) made its infamous charge due to a miscommunication during the Battle of Balaclava. The phone buzzed and I saw: "Want me to pick you up somewhere?"

And so the British lost...

I suggested a meeting point and a 20 minute delay and was back on the bike, trying to maximize my speed.

So my lovely wife met me at a park near our house and portaged me over the sloppy roads. Even with the car ride it took me about an hour to get home. And much like the British...I lost against the Russians/weather.

I'd been home a couple of hours before I finally warmed up. It was a good ride.

The forecast is for more snow (4-8 inches) and even colder temps starting this afternoon. We'll see if we can give it another go...maybe slay those pesky Russkies in the end.

Of course the British didn't have to deal with crazed afternoon traffic in Denver West.

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