I’m in wool socks. I was in sunny Lanzarote a mere two weeks ago but seeing my breath this morning as I mounted my bike made me feel like summer was a thousand years ago. Along with warmer clothes made of thicker fabrics, I’ve also initiated the stand off with the furnace. The seasonal stare-down always makes me grumpy, not only because I know I will lose, but because it makes me yearn for bare feet and flip flops and bikinis and base ride rides that make tan lines more like tattoos. The only thing that gets me through winter is knowing that summer is only 223 days away. But who’s counting?