In most of the Northern Hemisphere, the most unpredictable, or at least the most variable, weather comes in April.
I was reminded of that last week, when the contrast between my afternoon ride on Wednesday and the longer ride I took on Friday--which included Wednesday's route--could not have been more stark. And Saturday's ride went from the almost summer-like warmth I experienced on Friday to the near-winter conditions of my Wednesday ride--all within the space of an hour.
Within the warmth and sunshine of Friday and early Saturday, though, there was an even more striking disparity--between my senses.
The warmth I was feeling against my skin (Shorts! Short-sleeved top!) in no way reflected much of what I saw around me.
The trees hadn't yet begun to bud in the Greenwich Common, where I rode on Friday
nor along the Verrazano Narrows promenade or Owl's Head Park, where I rode with Bill and Cindy the following day.
The funniest part, though, is that after Cindy had to leave for another commitment, Bill and I rode through some of the Brooklyn backstreets of my childhood and youth (and, I must add, to the Rimini Bakery on Bay Parkway, where I introduced him to sfogliatelle, my favorite pastry). The temperature dropped during that part of the ride. After I put on layers I'd brought with me, we saw this:
the first budding tree--a cherry blossom. It's late this year. I can forgive it: Whenever I see it, I'm happy--even if it isn't in harmony with the cold wind against my skin!
I was reminded of that last week, when the contrast between my afternoon ride on Wednesday and the longer ride I took on Friday--which included Wednesday's route--could not have been more stark. And Saturday's ride went from the almost summer-like warmth I experienced on Friday to the near-winter conditions of my Wednesday ride--all within the space of an hour.
Within the warmth and sunshine of Friday and early Saturday, though, there was an even more striking disparity--between my senses.
The warmth I was feeling against my skin (Shorts! Short-sleeved top!) in no way reflected much of what I saw around me.
The trees hadn't yet begun to bud in the Greenwich Common, where I rode on Friday
nor along the Verrazano Narrows promenade or Owl's Head Park, where I rode with Bill and Cindy the following day.
The funniest part, though, is that after Cindy had to leave for another commitment, Bill and I rode through some of the Brooklyn backstreets of my childhood and youth (and, I must add, to the Rimini Bakery on Bay Parkway, where I introduced him to sfogliatelle, my favorite pastry). The temperature dropped during that part of the ride. After I put on layers I'd brought with me, we saw this:
the first budding tree--a cherry blossom. It's late this year. I can forgive it: Whenever I see it, I'm happy--even if it isn't in harmony with the cold wind against my skin!
