The proverbial (and over used) saying is that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. In truth March is a fickle beast and comes in as it wishes and goes out as it wishes. Some years you might have the bliss of March both coming and going like a lamb . . . other years March is the raging lion all month long. I think the one thing that can be safely said for March is that it is a fickle month.
However it shall leave, March has come in this year like a lion. Snow and more snow. Wind and cold. And more snow. Had enough? March is still not half over yet. March is fickle, but perhaps the second thing this month is known for is the number of people who finally crack and go insane from the length and madness of winter. By March a person is inclined to believe that they deserve spring and are inclined to grow increasingly irrational and unreasonable when this supposed right is thwarted.
It is true. By March just about any reasonable person is ready for spring. Warm weather. Green things. But the fickleness of March does not bother me as much as some people. Mentally, I feel worse heading into winter. Then the days are growing shorter, it’s getting dark earlier and light later and we have months and months of cold miserable weather ahead. And besides, everything I intended to finish before winter wasn’t done. With March, it is the opposite. The days are growing longer, it’s getting warmer, and the wonderful spring and summer are just over the horizon. I can make all sorts of wonderful idyllic plans about what I will accomplish in the coming seasons. Optimism abounds.
From this perspective, March and April are good months. They are the months in which you can dream and appreciate that which is not here. By the time May and June come, reality is colliding with all of those daydreams.
So, when the snow comes pouring down in March and the temperature is still hovering around zero (Fahrenheit) I am inclined to simply laugh. Why not go out in bare feet and shout up at the sky, “Snow! Snow all you want! It won’t keep spring from coming! It’s coming and when it does you’re all going to melt! Hear me!” I haven’t done that. But maybe I am slightly mad to think about things that way.
Tuesday morning was one of those March mornings. I look out the window in preparation for my early morning bicycle ride and I see the snow coming down thick, kind of coming down sideways because of the wind. That is enough to elicit a groan. Sub-zero temperatures have their own problems, but there is a particular annoyance and discomfort in snow and wind. The snow is constantly thrown in your face when riding a bicycle and a strong head wind–as any bicycler can tell you–is a killer. When there is a brutal head wind it can feel like you are pedaling with all your strength and going practically nowhere.
The wind, thankfully, was not that bad Tuesday morning. The snow, however, was the worse, I think, I’ve ever experienced when riding. When there is just a bit of snow falling I only need squint a little or look down slightly (or turn my head slightly to one side) so the blowing flakes do not strike me directly in the eyes. The heavier the snow the more I must squint, and look down or to the side. Tuesday morning it was snowing with vigor and blowing as well.
The combined circumstances made it nearly impossible to see where I was going. If I looked directly down at the front tire of my bicycle I could see but, obviously, seeing the front tire of your bike is not seeing where you’re going. If I looked sideways I could also see, but watching the world pass by was not the same as seeing where I was going. Looking directly ahead I had to close my eyes entirely as I would get blasted with snow. I discovered the only way I could minimally see where I was going was if I cocked my head to one side, shut one eye entirely, and squinted the other eye almost shut. Then, if I squinted from the protection of my shielding face I could see the snow swirling expanse of the road ahead.
Snow plastering up one side of my head, barely able to see–this was how my ride progressed. There was little traffic, and the road had not been plowed so at times the way ahead was a sheet of empty whiteness. There was no line down the middle. There was just a flat white stretch and blowing snow. It was easy to imagine how in a true blizzard a person could easily wander off the road and become lost.
When I finally got home the ride felt invigorating. It is the peculiar nature of things. Relentlessly battered with snow and wind you come inside to the warm air that feels so much more deliciously warm after having survived the howling outdoors. The snow begins to melt off and you feel very much awake and alive and ready to face the day. It is March, and it is a happy thought to know things can only get better than this.
Other Things
A most satisfactory occurrence on my Tuesday ride was a resolution of sorts to a continuing war I was carrying on with a particular dog. A bicycle ride in the country always has the potential for dog problems. Most dogs are no problem–either because they are good natured or obedient enough not to harass people using the road–or because their owners are wise enough to keep their nasty dogs restrained. However, cover enough country roads are you will come across that unrestrained problem. In my normal routine I cover a consistent route and face a consistent dog population. Most of the “problems” are restrained. There are some that are not restrained and cause no problem. Then . . . then there are the problems. One dog, while not nasty is, a nuisance as he likes to run and get in the way. With some sharp words and a bit of physical persuasion I taught this dog that I did not care to be chased for the entire length of my ride. Now he only gets in the way when I am passing his property, a fact I bear with in as much humor as I can scrape together, as the dog is stupid and inconsiderate but not ill-natured.
The second problem is Stalker. This is no jest. It was the name ineffectually screeched after this black dog as it chased and harassed me. There are few things which disgust me more about human-animal interactions than owners/masters who demonstrates their complete inability to control their animal. This Stalker was a problem I watched develop. It was first a little black puppy that ran out into the road after me, an occasion which might make one think, “Aw, how sweet.” The dog, I’m sure, is completely sweet and good natured to its owner and friends but this Stalker was not taught that dogs never chase someone on a bicycle.
Stalker is a coward and he loves to chase. Perhaps his little cowardly heart gets a thrill when he imagines that person pedaling on a bicycle is fleeing from him in fear. Many problem dogs will learn their place (or at least keep their distance) after I’ve given them a dark glare or else kicked them good. Stalker ignored my stare. He always came after me with such glee, circling around, coming as close he dared, wishing he had the gall to actually bite me.
The dog would not take the hint. Not once, not another time. Finally, I began kicking him when he came swooping in for his harassing runs. Then he bit me.
At that point the war went into full escalation. Stalker was a coward. Any time I stopped my bike and dismounted (thus removing my disadvantage) he took flight as fast as his legs could carry him. But he was always back the next time I pedaled past, and he was always ready and eager to harass and threaten–until I dismounted. He was becoming a real spot of unpleasantness in my morning ride and after having bit me Stalker was on the course of either standing down from his activity or heading toward serious injury or death.
Stalker only came close enough for combat when I was moving. Thus I could only land ineffective kicks while in motion. If I stopped he backed out of foot range. If I dismounted and gave chase, he fled. My first thought was to devise a method of inflicting pain while I was in motion. To this end I cut a length of stick slightly longer than my forearm and fastened a metal head on one end, further attaching a length of rope with two large metal nuts attached to the end. This was my “rod of correction.” Unfortunately the theory did not work out so well in practice. On first engagement Stalker came in fast from the front but then cut quick to the left of my moving bicycle which rendered it effectively impossible for me to hit him (I’m right handed). At this point his was in the position to make harassing passes from behind which would be hard to counter.
At this point I was angry. I brought the bicycle to a stop, turned around, and simple threw the stick at him. I threw hard, but anger rather decreases accuracy and it landed between his feet, the stick cracking at the impact. Stalker was rather startled. I wasn’t finished. I turned around and rode to retrieve the stick (Stalker getting out of the way) and I threw it at him again. By this time he was starting to get an inkling and when I retrieved the stick a third time (now split in two) Stalker decided to high tail it out of there. I made another pass in front of the house, daring him to come down and have another go–but he declined.
That was the end of my rod of correction but I knew dear Stalker had not learned his lesson. My last engagement made me realize effectively fighting the dog while in motion on the bike would be difficult as Stalker was much more maneuverable and could basically choose whichever approach he wanted. So my thinking switched to ranged attack.
Next ride out I took two steel 1 1/4 lb weights tucked in my coat pockets. On the next assault from Stalker I would simply stop, aim, and let him discover what being hit by 1 1/4 lbs of steel felt like. And so on Tuesday morning I met him. He saw me well in advance and came running out to meet me, at which point I pulled out one weight–and Stalker promptly turned and leaped for safety, plowing into a snow bank. On my return trip I passed Stalker’s place again, weight in hand. The dog stood in the driveway and simply watched me, uttering not a sound.
I am not sure if in Stalker’s cowardly brain he somehow finally realized he had stepped across the line or if some calculating part of him recognized a load of steel for exactly what it was and knew better than to try anything. He still doesn’t have good long term memory, or is hoping that I will forget to bring my weapon. On Thursday he came out again, but I simply held up the weight and he shut up and withdrew.
Additionally
Our driveway is turning into a frozen river. Recalling events of last year I remember that at times of extreme wetness a spring would appear above our driveway, bubbling up fresh cold water. (We have a high water table and very heavy clay soil which makes surface water a big problem.) This little spring disappears in dry weather, but is causing our current trouble. Surface snow melt can create a small ice problem on the driveway, but we are having water problems when the temperature is below freezing. This can only be caused by subsurface water coming up–and then freezing.
The extent of the problem is amazing. The flow of water is such that even when the temperature is down near zero (Fahrenheit) there will still be pockets of soft ice and water on the driveway. The water keeps coming, spreading and freezing. As ice dams the water up it spreads further and piles higher. In a day it can reach an inch in thickness.
The smooth surface is impassible for a vehicle so the ice is broken up and removed. Next morning–there it is again! Another sheet of ice covering the driveway and this time the frozen water has piled up so high it is covering the bottom step!
Salting is a joke, and even removing the ice is an exercise in futility. The water freezes again, on the driveway, on the road. At this point we are just trying to create an uneven ice surface (break up the ice and let it refreeze) so that vehicles can climb the surface of ice that seems determined to remain until spring truly arrives.
The solution would be to dig a drainage ditch under the driveway. Yeah, that would be nice. If we had the money.
Comments on this entry are closed.