Always warmest before the snow

It's a great day to ride, is an old Native American expression meaning that, if you're going to Hell, you may as well go on your motorcycle.

OK, that's not quite true. It's a great day to ride means just that. In the winter, it means you better get your time in because it's gonna be nice and tomorrow it's going to drop about two to six inches of snow on you.

So it is with today. Up in the 50s is the scheduled high, according to Normal Sprouse, with snow tomorrow.

It's always warmest before the snow, which makes it a good time to get that bike moving. But you don't always have to wait for the warm.

Yesterday, I was sipping my tall-Americano-no-room with The 'Burne in the 'Bucks, chilling away from the door and the 20-something degrees outside when a familiar figure hunched over the bars of a battered Honda Magna cruised down the street, flashed his brake lights and hung a right down the Seminole Trail.

It was R.P. McMurphy on a temporary pass from the Cuckoo's Nest on his way to God only knows what kind of mayhem.

McMurphy is a virtual SOB. He rode to the Word Factory that morning when the thermometer said 'too #$%@ing cold,' being somewhere in the 'teens.

He rode not because he loved the ride, although he does.

He rode not because he's a committed cyclist, although he is and he should be.

No, R.P. rode for the best reason of all, the prime motivator of all silliness, the reason why we climb mechanical bulls, handing our bottle off to our friend while saying 'hold my beer and watch this.'

Someone dared him.

Someone at Thursday night bike night had basically dared the poor man to ride when he knew it would be too damn cold to ride, so naturally, he did.

R.P. trying to make off with someone else's bike, on a dare, of course

Now I've been known to do stupid things like that on occasion and even out of necessity. The coldest I've chugged is 18 degrees on the back of an Old Wing with a barn door fairing. The coldest I've ever been is 23 degrees on the back of a Buell Blast with full wind.

On the other hand, I was wearing several layers and leather pants on the Wing. I was wearing high-tech over-pants and several layers on the Blast. R.P. was wearing a winter riding jacket and khaki pants, plus gloves.

The man's got nerves. Of course, most of them are probably still numb, but you can't argue he's got them.

So get out there and get a few miles on the bike today. Tomorrow you can sit back in your Camry, turn on the windshield wipers and slip-slide to work in heated comfort.

Watch out, though, someone may have given R.P. a double-dog dare.