We set out every morning, out of habit, for the fun of it.
We pretended we were in an old European city on our way to work.
We made snow angels.
We rang our bells to replace the birds that were not around to sing.
We smiled and made polite small-talk with strangers who decided it was a good idea to start conversations with us about how crazy we are to ride in the snow.
We got a new president (pinch me, am I dreaming?)
We wondered what it would be like to slip on frozen stones, crack our helmets open, and fall into Lake Michigan with no one around to notice.
We thanked our studded tires profusely.
We rode to Sears in a foot of snow to buy new boots to ride in the snow in.
We rode crazy Dutch bikes.
We began to pay more attention to trees, as they came to look more and more human during our long, isolated commutes.
We said, come on out, the weather’s fine.
We cursed Mayor Daley for his short-lived, hair-brained scheme not to plow side streets.
We got a bit closer to the edge than advisable, but survived.
We periodically went inside to defrost.
We wondered how waves can possibly freeze and wished we’d paid more attention in oceanography in college instead of reading Gogol tucked inside our notebooks
We went on dates.
We continued on, even when our path was blocked.
We made our own paths.
We sometimes swallowed our pride and walked the darn bike.
We looked but didn’t touch.
We wore balaclavas and looked like those cartoon stick-up guys.
We thanked the Chicago Parks Department for plowing our bike path.
We saw a hundred frozen sunrises.
We watched the ice disappear.
We said, Holy crap, I think it’s spring!
If we did it, anyone can.