Patience

The bed was warm, the view poking through from the bottom of the blind still white. In long-johns and a t-shirt I stumbled between walls with a furrowed brow and scowl. As I waited for the coffee machine to heat up I squinted out the window, yawning and registered shavings of snow falling into the Garden: my snow-o-meter being the abandoned bike's saddle out the back window.

I'm desperate to get out on my bike. I had to call off Tuesday after 3 or 4 miles as the old Lanark road just became two tyre tracks in the snow. I, nor the cars, were appreciating me being there. As patient as they were. There was hope when I met another cyclist en-route to the meet point this morning, the snow not yet having had much affect. We collected 4 others at the pool as the road started to get covered and headed out. I could tell by both visibility and road condition that this would finish at the top of the hill on the way to Dalkeith. Half way there, and going straight, I met snowy tarmac and turned around with the other skinny tyred brigade - the pragmatic mountain bikers venturing on. I think it's time to buy a turbo.

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