Mud To The Nutmeg State

Mud, mud, mud everywhere.

That's what I saw.  Or so it seemed.  Of course, if I were in England, the low countries, northern France--or parts of New England--I'd be thinking "cyclocross"!

Actually, I thought about that, but of course I would be a spectator:  My racing days are long past, and at my age, I don't want to risk injuries from climbing fences, jumping rocks and such.

I was happy, though, to take a ride to Connecticut the other day.  Although we've had below-average temperatures for this time of year (It hasn't reached 10C, or 50F), the sky was clear.  And it is spring, at least officially.

But it's  also still March--which means, of course, I had wind.  As it blew from the east and northeast, I pedaled into it nearly all the way up.  And, yes, they were March winds all right:  30-40 KPH (19-25MPH) much of the way.

Needless to say, it felt good to arrive--with the season,it seemed.  With the new season came some odd contrasts--along Greenwich Avenue, folks seemed to be in defiance of the season--as fashionably as they could--in bright colors, light jackets and, on some feet, flip-flops.  They seemed even odder, almost surreal, in walking past the Veterans' Memorial across from Town Hall.

Somehow it fits a commemoration of the dead from three wars. (The block in the photo is for Vietnam; the other parts of the memorial recall those who died in the Korean War and World War II.)  Some would say the flowers and buds that will soon adorn the trees and ground more fitting reminders--of, according to some, the sacrifices for generations that follow them.  Or perhaps they are a way to forget the pain.

In any event, I know it's the very, very beginning of spring because there was mud everywhere.  At least I had the wind at my back for most of my way home!