Yesterday morning on my morning commute, a real, honest to goodness snow squall started. There were big, heavy Grandma Moses snowflakes, and visibility dropped to about 200 yards (as I can attest to because an SUV almost clipped me).
What struck me, though, was the tremendous beauty of the moment. Had I not taken up bicycle commuting two months ago, I would have been driving to work in my car during that squall. I would have had the heat blasting and the windshield wipers going, straining to see out the frosted up windshield and cursing how slow I had to drive.
But yesterday, I was caught in the moment. Everything was quiet. There was little traffic, and what traffic there was seemed to pass by silently, muffled by the cotton candy snow settling on the roads. There was no wind, and the flakes seemed to float down in slow motion, sticking to whatever they landed on.
I wasn't cold, because I was prepared for the weather. But people who drove by craned their necks to look at the wierdo riding his bike in the snowstorm. Even the coffee shop owner raised his eyebrows when he asked if I was riding bike to work. I must have looked like a sight with my two mugs of java perched in my handlebar water bottle cages.
In a small town like ours, word gets around. I'm sure there are a few people talking by now. I was imagining a conversation between two locals..."saw Chip riding his bike in the snow yesterday."
"Yup, I heard he got a DUI and lost his license. Has to ride his bike everywhere now."
As I rode along, thinking about the locals, with the beautiful snow that God provided just for me on my morning ride, I smiled. They just don't get it.
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