Rides in cold over the years, sure, but without a theory or method, two hours, maybe five of Vermont spearing mirror shard cuts. Not so much this season, but it’s happened. Not a natural element for me, not psychologically nor otherwise. And so shrugging, shoving gear in a duffel for a plane flight for a ride for a hundred miles, four thousand from here. Alaska self reliance wilderness libertarian folk tales, no required gear, left up to your own good or dubious sense. A borrowed bike, a skeptical mystified weather forecast vigilance, the fitness of unfocused yeahwhatever, meeting friends who feel close but that I haven’t met before. Reciting a little code but this time only needing to whisper.