When I was a kid, we rode our banana-seat-bikes around the neighborhood in the snow, slippin’ and slidin’ and crashin’ into yards and snowbanks.  As early-years-teenagers, we were riding our bmx-style-bikes around town in the snow and sleet and ice, purposely trying to ride up and over the big snow piles in parking lots.

Later on, sometime in the the college years, I put my mountain bike on the rack on the back of my car and drove up to Gettysburg while it was snowing.  I’ll never forget the joy I felt riding across the fields of Pickett’s Charge in four inches of fresh powder, meaning not the wet heavy snow so typical of the area.

Winter in small-town PA didn’t stop us from riding our bikes when we were younger.  So why should it stop us now?

I woke tired the other morning, and sort of thinking that maybe I wouldn’t go.  Then I thought:  the snow is there now … today is likely the last day to ride the snow … you’ll be glad you did.

Truth has a way of setting things straight.

Off I went to the Lagunas to ride the full loop around the meadows.  It took me two hours of bouncing, pedaling, cursing the footprint-pockmarked trails, smiling and quietly laughing when the snow pack on the sides was hard enough to “float” over, and a little hike-a-bike, but I made it all the way around the meadows.   The fat tires made it possible, or at least, possible with a little more ease than with “skinny” tires.

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independent writer

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