So...the past 24 hours have been a pretty serious blast. It all started innocently enough. Late afternoon hours yesterday looked something like this:
Not bad, right? By dinner time, it was also snow angel time. The epitome of a pure angel! (Said angel lost her phone during that maneuver! Don't worry, we went back and I found it right away.)
Morning came and things were looking both beautiful and a bit daunting. SVR got out for a run on the treadmill and I putzed and readied breakfast. This simple meal would prove even more fulfilling later in the day. Friday night, hEllicott and I exchanged a text or two about possible mountain biking in the snow Saturday. It was all conditions dependent. Also an option? Hooking up with MattyD. in RCP. He was planning a ski adventure. Around 10:30AM, Evan stepped up and decided to play sacrificial lamb. Willing to test the waters (and knowing my propensity to, er, wimp out of such climatically challenging events), he set out and I stood by awaiting word of conditions on the ground. The call eventually came in and word was things 'weren't so bad' down on Beach Drive. With SVR's urging, I dropped trou' immediately, as any thinking about what I was about to do was sure to derail my less than best laid plan. I was out the door in about a half hour (with a backpack full of beers, no less) and set out into some redonk conditions. As I gingerly scooted down Porter towards the Park, I was hearing many "nice job"s, "good work"s, and "brave soul"s as I progressed towards Connecticut Ave., NW. There were a fair number of people just messin' around in and along the street. I made it to Connecticut, but not really recognizing where I was (and also distracted by several cargo vans fish-tailing their way up Connecticut), I over shot Tilden and doubled back to continue my descent into the abyss. Tilden was amazing. Some sort of vehicle or 'device' had plowed a narrow (4' wide) chute and also threw enough pow' pow' on the cars lining the street to turn them into 8' tall cotton balls. Amazing. Once I hit Beach, Evan's report actually made sense. Beach was variably passable. Some spots were thick and others were rutted out. Mostly, 99% of everything was ride-able. Hard to say how much of the three hour outing was actually spent riding, but my legs are now telling me I did more work than it felt like at the time. Ready to exit the Park, Evan and I stopped at The Gate for a ceremonial brewski. Matty and Chris Clarke showed (as did a WaPo reporter, so look for mention of us in Sunday's paper) and we all had a wee nip (pourin' one out for Il Nessie with that one).
Headed back up Tilden (a total mess going uphill) and found Porter very ride-able. Usually a pain in rump of a way to finish of a ride, it was particularly painful on the Ruffian and in the friction-inducing snow. Awaiting me? Waffles left over from the morning meal, some pumpkin butter, and a nice cup of strong coffee (I've decided Illy is worth the premium price). I think this scene might even make a Belgian proud.