I didn't want to make the same mistake as a few days earlier , so I made sure to gear up properly for the cold. My google phone told me it was 17 degrees, which sounded manageable, but what it didn't mention was the cutting cold wind that would be blasting me in the face all the way out. It was a hard push on the bumpy, loose , snow-covered trails that cut through the north side of the park, and before I even got to the first little climb up to DIXON , I was a little out of breath, but view when you get to the top of the old train-bed makes it worth the work. I rode along the ridge all the way south, dropped in and took the TIMBER trail back to the reservoir. I got to the place along the shore that I always stop to let Django drink, but found my self unable to fight the urge to roll out onto the frozen lake . I got "cold feet" about 100 ft from shore and turned back and rode close to the shore for a bit and jumped back on LAND. But that was all it took and by time I got over the dam on the North side - I hit the spot where a little beach would be, if not for the snow cover, and just pointed my bike at the lake and rode as fast as possible. Aiming for the place I had ridden out on the other shore, thinking that at least it was safe from that point if I could just make it there. Riding hard, envisioning the splintering ice behind me, falling away like a scene from RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK , cracking and sliding into the jaws of the frigid water just nipping at my rear tire. cracks forming and running alongside , crisscrossing in a spiderweb out from my impact. It would all end with one final leap off the bike, tumbling to a stop safely on the shore as the whole ice sheet collapsed into itself , in a very satisfying... kersploosh! ...Finally reaching the solitary but familiar singular track on the opposite side, realizing that the ice was as unimpressed by my travels across as it is with the blowing wind. I put down my feet, slid to a stop, and looked back. The long straight track like an arrow, unbroken, flying perfectly to the other shore, showing exactly were I had been. Even on a small body of water, there is something very powerful about being over it, alone like a stone, quiet, humbling. It makes you feel small and insignificant, but powerful at the same time .. SO Django and I zigzagged back and forth, slipping and sliding across the lake, like drunken pigs, making quicker time on the ice than on the trail ,,, stopping only once to snap a pic then off to home to soak it all in.
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
titsay
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areudirty
