October Snow Storm

“Holy cow! It’s freezing!” I shout over my shoulder. We are careening down Grafton pass outside Bethel, Maine, on this late October afternoon. We are trying to split the difference between increasing the wind chill by increasing our speed and moving our legs fast enough to generate enough internal combustion to get blood pumping hard enough to reach our extremities. It is a tough balance.

The misty rain that was falling in the valley where we started has transformed into needle-like icy shards at this elevation and the sharp sleet is being perpetually flung against our faces. It stings our eyes and makes us squint through the whiteness. The faster we go, the less we can see. I start singing in a full-throated operatic aria.

“Jarroooo, jaraaa, jahosaphat, jallah.” I don’t know what has come over me, but shouting nonsense into this ridiculous weather seems to be the thing to do. Meeting the crazy with crazy.

“Mom, be quiet!” yells Oakley from behind me. “I am really cold.”

“Let’s stop and put on another layer.” I call back. We still have 12 or so miles to go.

“I didn’t bring another layer.”

“Oakley, you swore you packed one!”

“Well, I didn’t.”

This kid. He just can’t seem to think ahead. Normally, I triple check him, but today I had let my guard down. I could be mad, but what would be the point? My words will not add to the lesson.

He is skin, bones, and sinew. His shirts hang off him like a clothing rack. Sometimes when you look at him, his chest and belly almost seem concave. This cold must be searing right through him.

We had just stopped by at a beautiful water fall that cut spirals through the exposed granite here. We oohed and ahhed and stomped our cold feet while he ate two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a huge bag of chips. But, now I can tell by the timbre of his voice that he is already out of fuel. Not me. I always pack some extra in my fannie.

“Well, let’s keep on keeping on.” I say in a most annoyingly cheery way. There is really no other choice. Stopping would only make it take longer to reach our warm cozy truck. I pedal fast, and feel my hot breath pumping out into the cold like a bellows. My toes and fingers ache, my ears sting. My heart thunders. I love this.

When the pass flattens out to a rolling valley, the sleet turns back into rain. The clouds are laying down on top of the untidy harvested fields and all grows quiet, but we don’t slow down until we get to the truck.

We quickly throw our bikes in the back, climb in, and blast the heat. Oaks eats some more, eases the seat back, and promptly falls asleep.

When he wakes up 45 minutes later, I cautiously ask him what his favorite part of the days adventure was. I think he will mention the falls or the caves we saw, but no, “The cold.” He says, “It was so intense!”