The Difference a Year Makes

Winter has returned. Denver has not seen the sun for three consecutive days, which usually happens about once a year, at about this time. It's getting a little nutty here, because if a Denverite goes three days without sun, he or she begins to suffer from skin cancer withdraw. 

I overheard a couple of people in the chiropractor's office talking about the people they've seen riding bicycles throughout the storm. The cyclists were referred to as "lunatics." I think I understand how non-cyclists arrive at their feeling about those lunatics, as, to them, winter is something to be tolerated, something that makes traveling from home to the tanning salon unpleasant. However, here is a picture from my commute:

And here's a picture of the average wintery automobile commute:

I understand that not everyone is about to hop on their bike and ride through the next blizzard, but there certainly isn't anything unpleasant about a winter ride, and sometimes, if you're lucky, the frostbite works its magic on one of those weird moles that's developing on your face. 

I will admit that there are inclement occasions on which my wife will offer to drive me to work, and that it's getting more and more difficult to turn down said offers. Why? a) Because it's easy, and b) there's probably a cyclist pinned underneath that red vehicle above. Also, c) here's a carcinogenic photograph of my spine:

That bright white spot may be an oft-regretted habanero pepper. 

I have no idea how to interpret this carcinogenic photograph, but the doctors tell me there's not enough jelly between those frosted white squares. Medically, I have no idea what that means, but it does sound like a delicious breakfast. In any case, you may remember what I was doing one year ago. I spent most of this past week doing the same thing.

There are other mistakes I've made repeatedly throughout my life, but dislodging the temperamental circle of back jelly is the one mistake I just can't seem to stop making. I mean, sometimes all I have to do is reach for a light switch or even just fart wrong and I can't walk for three days. How does one learn to prevent such things?

In answer to that question, I'm off to Fruita for four days to ride my bike, drink beer, and watch the sunrise. Not getting out of town is a mistake I haven't too often made. I hope to return with many non-carcinogenic photographs for you of Fruita, the magical place where the vertebrae ride wild and free.