Welcome to “Dear Daybreak”, a weekly Daybreak column. It features short vignettes about life in the Upper Valley: an encounter, some wry exchange with a stranger or acquaintance… Anything that happened in this region or relates to it and strikes a contributor as interesting or funny or poignant—or that makes us appreciate living here.

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Dear Daybreak:

Riding a bicycle is probably my favorite activity. But I don’t ride year-round. Over the years, I’ve learned to enjoy taking my winter break off the bike. It’s always a little hard when the days grow short in the fall and the temperatures make it less and less pleasant to ride. Finally, usually near the end of October, after that one ride where my fingers and face grew equally numb, I lube up my chain one last time and hang my bike from its hook in the garage. I won’t say it’s a tearful goodbye (I’d never admit that), but it’s a hard one.

I can’t say that I don’t think about biking over the winter. I’ll see an article or YouTube video of some great bike ride and start to get that itch. As the calendar flips over to March, the itch grows a little bit stronger. Then a day like today comes along. The temperature climbs up into the 50s or close to 60 and I find myself outside in a T-shirt like we are in the middle of summer. The sun has picked up some strength and I can actually feel warmth on my pale white skin. The birds are making a ruckus and I can smell the muddy earth starting to soften up. Just over the last week or so, the glacier-like piles of snow along our driveway have receded and started to show the flattened grass underneath.

It’s way too soon to get out on the dirt roads. Venturing out there would just be an exercise in frustration as the soft mud would suck at the bicycle wheels and mire me in a wet mess. Who knows, I might never make it back from one of those ventures. So I grab my old road bike. The one that I bought with the ambitious idea of riding across the U.S. I didn’t make that ride (not yet, anyway) and this bike is a bit worse for wear. The steel frame has a few rust spots and the back gears don’t quite work the way I’d like them to. But it’s a comfortable bike and very suitable for hitting the paved roads heading out of Randolph village.

It’s exciting to be back on the bike, even in the first few minutes and after all these decades of riding regularly. I get that exhilaration like when I was a 10 or 11 year old and taking the old Schwinn Stingray down a local hill. I roll through town, thrilled to be out again on two wheels and under my own power. I soon leave the village behind and hit the first little incline. I’m asking a lot from my legs and lungs, even though I haven’t been a couch potato all winter. I’ve experienced this every spring.

I pass by muddy driveways glistening in the sun as their vehicles imperceptibly sink down into the muck. I’m aware of the traffic coming up behind me (my rear view mirror is one of the best investments I’ve ever made) and keep an eye on them as they approach. Everyone gives me plenty of space and I wave as they pass by. About half way through the ride I can tell that I’ll be feeling this in my legs later. Another random thought comes along, wondering why no one invented a more comfortable bicycle seat over the past few months.

Out near my turnaround point, a tractor is chugging along in the opposite direction. We greet each other and keep rolling. On the way back, I’m blessed with the streams and tributaries that run near and under the road. The afternoon sun casts silver reflections off the rolling surface and I find a smile on my face. A crow croaks out a greeting from a nearby tree, then takes off to join one of its fellows in flight. I look out across the fields of white and see the remnants of last year’s corn crop poking up through the snow. It’s a reminder of the cycle of the seasons in this little corner of the universe. I roll up to the shop and as I go to park my bike, I step into what I thought was gravel but turns out to be a big mud hole, which completely engulfs my foot. I smile as I give thanks to the joys of riding a bike and spring in Vermont.

— Jon Kaplan, Randolph

Dear Daybreak:

Apples in Winter

The apples turned weak this fall Brown rings circled the stems. Even if we picked them often We couldn’t outpace The deer who snapped off the low ones Nibbled on the drops.

We managed a few small bags of Liberties and Grimes Golden Put them in the cellar but They spoiled quickly. We tired of eating around The soft brown spots.

Today I took them out with the kitchen compost Paused, tossed them over the snowbank Toward some deer tracks.

It’s been a hard winter for deer Snow came early, cold went deeper Both stayed longer.

Tonight I hope they’ll wander in from the woodline High stepping through the deep snow and wind blown crust.

The apples belonged to them all along. We were never really in charge.

— Bob Hagen, E. Thetford