The Pedal To Sainsburies in -8 degrees C.

The Night air quickly closes in, it knows my warmth and wants it for itself. I pedal faster, nearly to the beat of drums ringing in my now burning ears. Soon my eyes sting, and my toes and fingers feel the creep of the Nights silvery breath. I take my turn. Pulling my buff over my face. I breath deeply, warming my nose and lips. But too soon condensation forms and the the misery finds a subtle way in again. Under street lights I zoom, until the road runs out and the toepath is all that remains. Without the streetlights the world seems weird. Strangely the canal is offering no reflection. Suddenly my cold slowed mind clicks into gear and I realize it is frozen. At the same time I realize that my body isn't quite recovered from the weeks illness. Frost starts to form on my beard under my buff. This is getting serious. The moon is full and offers a smooth beauty under a mask of horror. With the surprising grip I dig deeper and push harder. The dull ache in my feet breaking into a sharp needle like jab everytime I push. At last streetlights. I'm almost there. I scrunch up my hands and feet, trying too late to work life into them. I arrive, dismount, and head in search of heat.

What a lovely night for a ride!