Welcome to Winter

 It's official, late morning yesterday was the winter solstice, so we've now started wobbling back the other way. That also means I was outside, generally in motion, for every second of daylight on Sunday. That made my seventh winter solstice outing, and with the exception of 2023 when I hiked through the longest night with Steve, my intent has been to step outside and return in full darkness, at opposite ends of the shortest day.

I didn't reach out to anyone for company this year, but I didn't have to. On the fall equinox, Steve, now living in Maine, had sent greetings and interest in joining again this year. Then, at Thanksgiving, my Connecticut friend Seth had asked about a solstice adventure. On top of that, a few weeks ago, my friend and Beast Coast Running grand poobah, Amy, scheduled a group fun run on the trails of Mount Toby. It was shaping up to being a jam packed shortest day!

At the 21st drew near, the reality of a schedule conflict a few hundred miles away took Steve out of the equation (Although, he did venture out last night for HIS second long night hike on THE second longest night!), and then Seth recanted on his earlier statement that he count fake his way through a run, but with flexibility and coordination, all was far from lost. At 6:04am in the morning, I stepped outside and grabbed my bike.

At 6:38, I photographed my first hint of sunrise, then deleted that picture this morning.

 Use your imagination.

Still a little bumper shy of predawn weekend riding on the road, especially on a particular section of road a half mile from my house, I cut diagonally across the street and entered state owned land, pushing my bike along the trail. Out of a sense of self preservation, this has become my solstice start in recent years. Sure, it may cut down on my miles travelled, but I find serenity in the slow start and have not regretted it. Still, at just before 7am, on crossing a powerline cut, and spotting my first glimpse of sunrise red on the eastern horizon, I decided to cut my woodland excursion short, following the cut to the road, joining that a quarter mile past where I was hit it 2022!

Always coordinate your car and house trim?

That was a smart choice. I arrived at the run start, sharing the title of unfasionably early with my friend Matt. That gave me time to hand off shoe spikes to him, strip a few layers down to running attire, and then learn just how much cold thermal mass a pair of running shoes can aquire strapped to a rear rack. Who knew foam could hold such cold?

Yup, solstice, 

look at those LONG shadows at 10am!

Photo courtesy of Kristen, 

who was the one person with the gumption

 to climb the tower, 

and, I'm told, perform flying trapeze!

The run was fun, and I met Henry, who was not only aware of the solstice, but knew the exact time of the shift. He was excited to learn of my plan to stay out for the rest of the day, and I was excited to hear of his former bicycle commute when living in Boston. I was also excited to fill my thermos, twice, with the hot cocoa Amy had brought for afterward. It was even still somewhat warm when I downed it later that afternoon at the closed bridge across the Connecticut River in Northfield.

But first, I had to ride to Northfield, and for that, I again enjoyed company. Seth had driven to a Deerfield commuter lot, parked, then followed my directions accurately to a road a quarter mile north of the one we used to start the run. Oops, my bad, but modern technology can be handy for correcting the mistakes I make using modern technology, so a quick call from Seth allowed me to amend my earlier mistake, and soon we were rolling north on a route with two bridges now closed to cars, and two dirt roads with a potentially unhealthy coating of ice. I might truly be learning some self preservation, and we survived the frozen water crossings, walking when sensible. Sensible, I might learn to LIVE with that!

Even Seth, 

with less questionable taste than mine, appraised it as pretty nice for a roadside discard.

Rim strip was dangling by the rear derailleur.

I may return in a week 

and see if it still wants rescue.

While I had first learned about Freecycle years ago, I wasn't initially that jazzed, but then, after I helped someone fix up a bicycle at Bike Lab which they'd received for a friend after a request on the site, I was intrigued. It was a pretty nice bike! I joined, and while I've had good luck with responding to other's ads, both to give and receive, I have yet to have any success with any of my own postings. Early this summer, I'd made a request for red, translucent plastic I could use to wrap lightbulbs, reducing the stimulating effect of unnatural light at a time I'm trying to wind down for sleep. 

Nope, no reply, but then last week, someone offered rolls of colored cellophane, including one in red, on the Greenfield based site. Yay! I replied saying I could collect it late afternoon on Sunday's return trip. Then, site locations being roughly general, I learned the doner was in fact in Northfield, which I'd already expected would be our northern turn around point! Perfect, switch late afternoon estimate to mid, continue in my day's theme of messed up directions, this time switching in my head the address number from 237 to 273, and we rode part way back along the road to arrive at the correct house a couple minutes after 2pm. The house had a porch completely devoid of cellophane left out for me.

Seth and I double checked the number, and we were just about to roll out when a car came up the driveway. Greetings! Confirmed, we were in the right place, but some confusion of timing had come in the relay of Freecycle messages. Soon I was strapping a roll of red plastic atop my running shoes on the rack, and as we rolled down the drive, I commented to Seth how fortunate my mistake with the house number was. If we'd ridden there directly the first time, we definitely would have left before the donor's arrival. I'm not advocating for mistakes, but sometimes they work out perfectly!

The location was perfect as well. Rather than simply retrace out tracks to Route 10, we looped a city block north, which had us reach the main road directly across from the dead end sign at the start of East Northfield Road. I'd ventured down there a few summers ago and found a very closed bridge across the Connecticut River, blocked with a ten foot high barrier. I like sharing old, dilapidated infrastructure, so Seth and I headed down, hooked around the bank of plowed snow, and goggled at the deteriorating structure of the span. It was Seth's eye that noted the bridge was old enough to have riveted construction rather that more modern welds.

Again, no picture, 

I was busy drinking warmish cocoa.

It was 2:30pm. That was about two hours before sunset, and we were at least two hours away from where Seth left his car, which was an hour and a half from my house. I can do this math. Oh, maybe we shouldn't take the old woods road through Gill, especially considering how much ice we'd found on similar sections earlier that day. We started south, and at Seth's speedy pace, I realized I possibly haven't tucked into another rider's draft since before I was hit by the car. In fact, I likely haven't been aboard my road ride in that entire time. I requested Seth slow the pace down about ten percent, which isn't the first time I've done that with him. In addition to strong, he's nice, and has always gracefully acquiesced.

Again, it was a good choice of route for timing, and after tying together back roads, the riverside path through Turners Falls, and a quite roll down River Road in Deerfield, Seth and I parted ways at the 116 bridge over the Connecticut River at just about 4:30. That was perfect timing to have him back at his car without lights, and let me roll gently, as the day settled again into full darkness, for my arrival home nearly exactly twelve hours after I'd left. Granted, I'm no longer as at ease riding roads in the dark as I once was, but I still really, truly, really like rolling into the night.

Here it comes!

Happy Fill-in-the-Blank!