Ode to a Headwind

"Spring" has arrived here in hoary New England—with quotation marks in full force. Time again to trot out that trusty piece of doggerel I penned a handful of years ago:

Ode to a Headwind

When the trees are all blown halfway over
And grit in your eyes makes you half-blind at best
When the handlebars fight you like cobras
And the roar of the wind in your ears leaves you deaf 

When the roads are all pot-holed and mangled
And you struggle to keep your front wheel pointing straight
When you fear for your rear triangle
And you crawl at a glacial, detestable rate

When you can't feel the skin on your knees
And your teeth start to freeze in your mouth
When the wind chill reads six degrees
And the birds are all flying back south

That's when you know that you're cycling New England
Might as well go do an ultra in Finland
If you're cycling New England in March

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