I think this was the last.

The week has been crappy; gray and miserable inside and out. It’s darker earlier, quicker, and the forecasted high temperature is a bit lower every day. Can’t say as I like it.

I woke up this morning knowing it was cold. I’d pulled the duvet over my head in my sleep so that I was toasty warm except for my cold nose peeking out of the nest I’d made myself. The alarm went off and I let it go, unwilling to expose a warm arm to the cold room in order to turn it off. Instead, I chose to listen to the annoying morning host on the jazz station, praying he’d shut up soon and maybe put on some Billie Holiday. There’s something about Billie in the morning dark that seems right and fitting.

Keith comes in with coffee. I hear the solid thunk of the ceramic mugs on the chest of drawers then the sound of the blind being raised and the window closed. Safe from drafts, I move the pillow against the headboard and slide up out of my nest so I’m now sitting, looking out the window at the new sunrise beginning to throw reds and pinks across the sky. “It’s only 2 degrees right now”, Keith says as he joins me in bed. I complete the morning ritual by handing him his coffee, then taking a long slow sip of mine before speaking. “Brrr”, is all I can say, and take another sip of the sweet, caffeinated goodness of a dark roasted Mexican/Cuban blend.

“It’s supposed to go up to 13 today though, and sunny.”

Bing. I’m awake.

I can ride to work.

Time speeds up. Shower, drink smoothie, pack laptop, brush teeth, dry hair, get dressed, all in record time. Open the closet, pull on cold weather bike pants and jacket, grab helmet, backpack, keys, gloves, kiss husband goodbye, then gone. Down 23 floors to the parking garage, through the double doors, turn left, go six paces, turn left. Grab the cover with one hand, and pull it off. For once it does not catch on pegs or bars or chrome.

It slides off easily to reveal the object of my affection. I release the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Time flows normally again.

I throw the backpack in the saddlebag, put the key in the ignition and turn to ON. The fuel pump clicks away a few times as I put the choke on, then press the start button. Gas, air and spark do their thing, and the high growl of the bike in high revs echoes around the concrete garage. I pull my helmet on, not even caring for once about trying to minimize helmet hair, just slide it on and do up the chin strap. Gloves go on, carefully pulled over the cinched cuffs of the jacket. I still have the summer windshield on, and the air flow over the handlebars is turbulent, sneakily looking for a way to chill skin.

I’m ready. I turn the choke off, and both noise and vibration of the bike immediately settles into a low purr, quiet and steady. I straighten the bike and flip up the sidestand with a practiced kick.

And I smile a wide smile of anticipation. I’m ready.

I know that this could be the last ride of the season, and I’m determined to savour it like I would when down to the last piece of good chocolate. I want to make it last, to give every moment my utmost attention and memorize every detail.

I decide to take the long way to work, and exit out the building to the east. As I go down the hill to the entrance to the highway, I move the bars slightly and shift in the seat, gauging the stickiness of cold tires on even colder pavement. It’s not as bad as I’d thought it might be. The frost is only on the grass on the side of the road and the roads are dry. It’s colder than I’d thought once I’m moving, and I can see my breath mist and swirl inside my helmet. I breathe shallowly and crack open the visor a bit to stop it from fogging up.

It’s onto the highway with the lemmings headed downtown. As I merge into the traffic, I am once more grateful that I live all of six kilometers from work. Some of these people have a daily commute of an hour or more, each way. I think I’d go mad; no, I know I would. I get up to speed, and I can feel the cold push against me. My legs and arms are quick to become chilled, and I can feel my feet and face start to go numb. Luckily, I get off the next exit and as I roll around one petal of the cloverleaf to Bayview I contemplate lifting one hand to give a finger to the goof in the black Mercedes following me too closely. Ah, no need, he’s already figured it out and drops back.

Off Bayview lies Rosedale Valley Road, a sinuous and continuous S curve of a road. This is the reason I take the long way to work. For once there is no traffic backup, and while I can’t give the bike as much throttle as I’d like, I can get enough speed so I can lean into the curves deep enough give me that flutter in the pit of my stomach.

As I stop at the four-way stop at Sherbourne, I sqeeze my legs close against the engine but the warmth barely penetrates the fabric before I’m off again, around another S bend to Yonge Street. This is the least fun part of the ride and dodging  the taxis, parked courier trucks and idiots requires all my attention.

I turn into the alley by the school, and as I’m parking the bike I think about the ride. I’m feeling good for the first time all week, relaxed, at ease. I know it’s this ride that has given me that, and know that unless I am very, very lucky, it is the last one.

It’s going to be a very long winter.