Proper snowfall is so unusual here, that even when the first flakes began to float, landing on my coat and hat playfully, I did not think much of it and kept pedaling the eagerly creaking machine. These flurries would not last long.
The weathered cement lane, with its occasional outbursts of moss, became now a soft swooshy path, pristinely white. With my tire being the first to disturb it in this state, I felt a twinge of regret over ruining such unspoiled beauty. But this regret was short lived, as the bicycle took to the snowy surface as if they were meant for each other. The expression "like a ton of bricks" comes to mind. In a good way. Heavy and slow to react, the beast pushed onward persistently, its tattered tires gliding on fresh snow with an air of even-tempered striving. A complete unknown to me, this machine could have let me down, and I'd been fully prepared to walk it home. Instead, it almost seemed to savour the harsh weather conditions, enjoying the opportunity to show its mettle. "I am no novelty bike. Just look at what I can do!"
An hour later, the snowfall ended, the fog dissipated and the temperature rose. The snowdrops began to peek out again. The sun made a tentative re-appearance. Only the white caps of the mountains showed evidence of what had gone on. Soon, they too will melt, like the thin crust of snow now sliding off of the Triumph's spokes and chaincase, liquifying into puddles in the shed. A short, but intense winter burst that leaves me curious to ride this old bike in good weather.