It was snowy today, a little wind, low 20s. I had planned to attempt a trail ride in honor of Peter and Rocky, who won the Iditarod Trail Invitational at 7 this morning. But when I got home from work, a little later in the evening than I had hoped, looked at the newspaper and saw "Sweet Home Alabama" slated to air on one of the channels my TV picks up, well ... I spent the better part of the evening on the trainer. I have been sufficiently lulled by post-training complacency. But, for what it's worth, it was a good trainer ride. A commercial-laden chick flick can really stack on the minutes.
I didn't think the long winter would get to me, but something about the recent explosion of daylight, compounded by the calendar's turnover to March, has got me looking at the cold and snow with a confused melancholy of sorts. Where I come from - the land of salt and sand - early March is the time of year when temperatures start climbing into the 60s. The grass looks green again. Songbirds start tiptoeing their way back. Where I live now - the land of snow and Susitna - near-zero is still a harsh reality. Grass is buried under six feet of white stuff that continues to accumulate. Birds are trying to break into the house. I've lived in Alaska nearly six months now, and I have yet to see a different season.
It's a rough transition. As much effort as I've made to jump full-tilt into southcentral Alaska's winter, it's still tough to acclimate. At least I don't live in Barrow. You know what they say about Barrow -
There are two seasons in Barrow. Winter, and July 14.