Pedal. Breath. Gaze. Pedal. Grunt. Pedal. Cold air in, warmer air out. Mist, clouds and mountains. Rolling up a canyon on a glazed over winter day with changing weather looming on the horizon. The air is crisp the trees are still and the clouds are heavy. The rode is sharp, the contrast is flat and the corners clean, not a sole in sight. The alpine climbs are heaven, away from problems below, raw and endless. I feel a sense of security, a feeling of contentment, not felt for a bit. My legs are tired and weepy, filled with dead energy. Days and weeks of tense arbitration, not a pedal stroke to relieve the tension. Today, tired and broken, my body and mind forge on, feeling pain, a cadence oh to slow but getting the job done. As altimeter ticks on the mist turns to snow, the cold turns colder my brain has stopped, just focusing on what is ahead. Keep rolling.