1mlost: 'On a very cold day'

It's minus 8 at sunrise. By the time I got down the mountain, the temp dropped to minus 10 on my dash, the redundant flashing snow flake, really unnecessary. A layer of frost has formed on my visor, so it's flipped up. The 60 mile an hour wind is making my eyes water and my top and bottom eyelashes are sticking together longer each time I blink. I have to stop and adjust. It's the coldest weather I've ridden in and maybe too cold to ride a motorcycle. I remove a failing pinlock lens (double pane system) from the visor and toss it in the top box. I scrape off any remaining ice from the visor, cover my face with a neck wrap and put the helmet back on.

93 more miles to go. I'd been riding for exactly 13 minutes.

As I pull out a man informs me, "you've got more balls than I do." "Or just a lot less brains" I smile back.

The visor open / face covering is allowing me to see and I'm fairly certain that parts of my face aren't freezing off. I have a heated jacket, heated pants, heated insoles in my boots, heated gloves and heated grips. They're all on full blastq and I'm still struggling with painfully cold fingers. At this temperature, frostbite is a real concern. Losing a piece of my face on this trip would only be funny for a week or two. I'm heading south down familiar 209 on my way to Hermy's. Hermy's is the highly efficient BWM dealership where I acquired my bike. They owe me a set of tires and it's the last weekend to redeem the offer. Motorcycle tires are expensive and they wear out after surprisingly few miles. I stand to save 500 us dollars including service, tax and disposal. It's also just a good reason to ride 200 miles in the middle of January.

The rubber compounds and what-not of motorcycle tires aren't designed to provide traction below a certain temperature. Without enough heat, they don't soften enough to mesh with the micro-surfaces of the roadway. I don't know what these tires are rated to, but I assume it's not -10. I am not at all settled and waiting for a crash. I'm cruising along at about 60 mph and see a peculiar road sign marked "falling rock" with the word ICE on a square below. I look down the road. Just to the right there's this rock wall covered with a frozen waterwall. Constant melting and freezing of the waterfall have turned the road ahead into a 2 inch thick rink of ice. The ice spans the entire width of the road and I'll be there in about a quarter of a second.

I pull the clutch, start braking hard, downshift. Front end starts sliding but forward. I check the mirrors anticipating that the car behind me will rear end me, but he's braking. I clinch my buttocks, stand very still, release the brake and roll across the ice. Surprisingly, the bike stays rubber side down.

I am suddenly no longer cold. It's funny how the body holds something back for a moment like that. I stop for a coffee at a busy Turkey Hill across from an abandoned buddhist temple: large statues of a golden man with icicles dripping from his nose. At the end of 209 I get turned around in a small town. The only structures around have signs saying "St.Luke's Medical Facilites." I make a u-turn at a 4 way stop and the wheels start sliding out, I dab a foot down to catch myself and keep the bike upright. There is no ice or salt or gravel, just really cold tires on really cold pavement. I am rolling the dice.

I get back on track and the temp hits 10! I'm feeling good and finding my way to the valley of this dealership. I pull into the parking lot on a busy 4 lane 35mph road. I'm 12 minutes late. I haven't been here since I bought my bike in Feb 2020. My intention was to return in March 2020, but covid cancelled plans. Hermy's is really hummin' for a freezing January day. I am the oddity that rode a motorcycle to the motorcycle shop today and I am getting curious glances. The man, "Lil", who sold me my bike, is in the exact same place at the exact same desk. I jokingly ask him if he still has the seat I was supposed to pick up 22 months ago. He says the seat sat on the floor next to his desk for over a year and he finally sold it on eBay. A man nearby overhears and joins our conversation. He's a little shorter than me, stout, with a black hoodie. His grooming suggests that he is a big fan of Paul Sr. From Orange County Choppers. "Hey. What seat is on that bike?" I begin to explain the make and model of the "saddle" when he interrupts." Is it a Sargent Low?" Why yes it is. "That's an 09?" Correct again. "That's my bike." I understand immediately from the look on his face that the bike used to belong to him before he traded it in. I've always wanted to meet this man. He really set the bike up just right with all the necessary accessories. (Heat hookup, Crazy Aux Lights called Ericas, aforementioned seat.) He reluctantly tells me he regrets trading it in for the newer liquid cooled version. I've ridden both and I get what he's saying. Lil stops us talking and appreciates the coincidence. "You should both go out and play the powerball. Jeeze."

I remove my backpack, hiking stick and boots from the side cases. My friend, Joe, is waiting in the parking lot. He's been there 20 minutes, but he's known me long enough to know that I'm frequently not on time. We were both each other's best men at our weddings. I haven't seen him for nearly 2 years and it's a bit awkward, but the ice melts instantly. Joe drove up about an hour to come take me on a hike while they're working on my bike. He found a nearby hawk sanctuary and acquired "trail passes." The website of the sanctuary cautions that the trails are icy. For the ice, Joe packs some Yax Trax and I have an old pair of 6 point crampons. They're still dusty from a trip to the grand canyon taken in another decade. When it's time to put them on I can't remember how the elaborate strap system laces across the boots. The trail is amazing and follows the crest of a ridge for several miles. The northern lookout is by far the best view and there is another hiker sitting and possibly sketching. I say hello and apologize for all the jaw-flapping we've been doing.

Joe and I are talking about his daughter. I haven't seen Joe for almost 2 years. He had a baby then but I can see that he's really become a father since I've seen him last. Time apart is good for noticing changes in people. He has a new little source of joy. I must have been like that after my first child was born but it's been too long.

The hike warms my body and spirit, and the temperature, now 25, has me optimistic for the ride home. Back at Hermy's they are finishing up the tires and I'm putting back on the layers. A fellow weirdo pulls up on a bike similar to mine. With both study each other, a slight smirk on our faces. He advises that I would be better off taking the highways instead of the back roads. I understand the sentiment. He's had a close call with salt or gravel most likely. I wish Joe a safe drive home and collect my bike. The temperature is now 30 and it feels like summer. I don't even need to plug in all the heated contraptions. The new tires are smooth and fast. Michelins. The bike has a renewed energy. The roundtrip was somewhat punishing, but I had reached the limit of comfortable riding. Now the majority of weather was up for grabs.

-jk