It's cold. Quite cold. But I have no idea how cold it is, because my two thermometers don't say the same thing, and I don't know which one is telling me tall tales. I do know that the bike didn't want to start this morning, and that usually happens somewhere around 20°F.
Maybe I need to take a page out of Theresa Honeywell's book and knit myself a motorcycle cozy...
Father, in Whom We Live
22 hours ago
2 comments:
It's not proper winter until the snow squeaks under your feet when you walk.
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