Okay, I Finally Hate Weathermen. And Winter.
Dickson Street on a nice day. Today was not a nice day.
I had the bright idea of biking from the bus station to work instead of taking the connecting bus. According to the forecast, our ten-day freeze was supposed to break this morning, and I should have been biking in forty-degree heat. Yeah, I take what I can get.
My first trouble came as I was coasting magnificently down the hill in front of the university. Halfway down, I noticed with some consternation that I had no brakes. Part of me wanted to laugh at the Three Stooges-esque tragedy; the rest of me was oddly obsessive about the bus and car pulling into the intersection a hundred feet ahead.
Luckily, God had His hand on me; the timing was just right that by the time I coasted into the intersection, everyone had cleared out. I steered straight to the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill, dismounted, and decided to walk the rest of the way (mostly uphill anyway).
Once that comedy was finished, I noticed that it was cold. It was much colder than I had expected. As of this writing, an hour later, the sun is only beginning to peek out of the grey clouds that blanketed the city while I was outside. As a result, the temperature has risen two degrees to 24°.
I wasn't dressed properly; my face and feet soon froze over, and I had to stop at the Walton Arts Center to wash my feet in the lady's room sink with warm water (please don't tell the receptionists; they were really nice to me even though I must have looked homeless).
Half an hour later, I made it to work. I was miserable. I dread going back the same way to get to the bus station and home. I should have just taken the connecting bus, which drops me off right at the post office. I'm a fool.
I'm not trying this again until it's 60° out. In the meantime, I'll either take connecting busses or just freaking drive.
