Brisk dismissed: The forward propelling pawl of stubborn pride is the key to driving a stake through the dark heart of a black winter. Anticipation of an inevitable bone-raking cold descent requires a mental fortitude long forgotten in the heady scent of spring. And that descent will come. Fingers seek futile refuge behind tiny levers while deep breaths control the worst of the rigors. A hazy memory of operable toes compete with flushed burning ears for the prize of immediate attention. And as the glove wring dry, and icy fingers fumble with impossible buckle clasps, a crack of a smile appears through the foggy numbness of the post-ride buzz. Welcome to The Winter.
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