One day of snow mocks everything I enjoy about cycling.

Trade your charger for a donkey (your swallow for a penguin, your greyhound for a Saint Bernard).

Replace “nimble” with “wallowing”; replace the confidence of solid ground with an anxious search for clarity.

I once welcomed the glory of sun on bare skin; now I must defend against a conspiracy of elements.

But it’s still human. I’ll be used to it in a month or two.