Herb Terns rides his bike through southern Saratoga County.
Maybe this is the future of winter.
I pushed my bike out of our garage to the driveway. It was a February day, the heart of winter, but there has been no offseason for my bike and no on season for my skis. The little snow we’ve had this winter has vanished quickly and kept my snowshoes and skis dormant in the basement.
My thick-tired mountain bike rolled noisily through my neighborhood and then onto a rolling bike path. I told myself I had chosen the mountain bike for traction against snow and ice but there was no snow or ice. I had chosen the mountain bike because the knobby tires don’t roll as well as the smooth tires on my road bike. I’m drawn to things that offer the most resistance.
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Family and friends who’ve taken their New York educations and New York pensions south ask about winter as if it’s still the winter of their childhood. They know I have a New York heart and think I am selling them something — they don’t believe me when I say winter is not the same, that it’s shorter and milder. Maybe our heads are software that won’t update.
I pedaled north, crossing the Mohawk River. You may not equate beauty with the Mohawk but it can be striking as it flows between sheer rock cliffs on its way east to dance with the Hudson. On early winter mornings, I pause here to watch the soft colors of sunrise paint the water’s surface.
If we were told we would lose summer, there would be a flood of questions on stopping the pending tragedy. There are fewer questions as winter turns into months and months of November.
The path climbed steeply away from the river and I rode along the top of the cliff. An open area offered a view over the Rexford Bridge and the river below. There were boats in the foreground and the bridge with a hint of Schenectady in the distance. I can imagine an impressionist painter capturing the scene.
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One of my favorite things about the spot above the river is the historical roadside sign. It reads “Mohawk Riv-er on right.” River is hyphenated and spread over two lines, a testament to janky planning.
It was February and what would have been bike trainer time in the past, but other cyclists sped by me on road bikes on Riverview Road. A gaggle of kids walked with open jackets through the hamlet of Vischer Ferry. This may be the only version of February they know.
The gravel of the Vischer Ferry Nature and Historic Preserve crackled under my bike tires as I rode to the top of the Whipple Bridge. Below were remnants of the old towpath and canals where mules and their drivers would pull barges filled with goods and passengers. I wondered if the mule drivers thought mules would be walking this path forever or if they knew the sun rises and sets on everything.
Across the canal from the towpath sat a motorcycle, its rider walking somewhere in the preserve. I stood and listened as a barred owl hooted. I considered if the motorcycle rider heard it and if, years ago, a mule driver heard the owl’s ancestors.
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I had planned to continue east toward Crescent to cross the Mohawk and follow the southern edge of the river home but the owl reminded me there was not enough light for that journey. Instead, I turned the bike west toward home and the setting sun. I covered the same ground but was an hour older and rode with eyes on the now and not what had gone by. The roadside fields wore a late-fall tawny hue instead of snowy winter white but still somehow found a way to be brilliant in the late-day sun.
Winter outdoors scenes not snowy white but still somehow brilliant
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16.02.2024
Herb Terns rides his bike through southern Saratoga County.
Maybe this is the future of winter.
I pushed my bike out of our garage to the driveway. It was a February day, the heart of winter, but there has been no offseason for my bike and no on season for my skis. The little snow we’ve had this winter has vanished quickly and kept my snowshoes and skis dormant in the basement.
My thick-tired mountain bike rolled noisily through my neighborhood and then onto a rolling bike path. I told myself I had chosen the mountain bike for traction against snow and ice but there was no snow or ice. I had chosen the mountain bike because the knobby tires don’t roll as well as the smooth tires on my road bike. I’m drawn to things that offer the most resistance.
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Article continues below this ad
Family and friends who’ve taken their New York educations and New York pensions south ask about........
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