It's cold. I don't know the actual temperature with windchill but I feel it biting. As if a hundred dogs are chewing and tearing at my joints, ripping flesh from my bones. My breath comes in short blasts, misting my visor and blocking my view ahead. But still I keep going. I haven't a choice. Two more hours and I'll be in the warm. Two hours. That's a long time to be riding. I stop every hour at a roadside cafe, a cup of coffee and the chance to defrost. You have to. As your body gets colder it starts shutting things down. Hard to believe but I could fall asleep on the bike and die. But suddenly being warm brings its own misery. Everything locks up. Ligaments seize. My determination suffers a beating before I put my helmet back on. It would be easier to stay in the cafe. With every hot cup of coffee and warm smile from the waitress the road seems further and further away. A distant memory. But the pull of the road calls me again. I pay the bill, put my coat on and go. Out into the cold. I want to turn straight back. I don't. The bike starts after a couple of attempts and spits condensation out towards the sky in a one fingered salute to the weather. I drop into first, ease the throttle back and with a huge feeling of regret I leave the cafe behind. One hour until I stop again. I keep the speed below seventy; my reactions aren't as fast as normal. Though the need to overtake everyone is still strong, if only to reach home that little bit quicker. I resist the urge. I approach my favourite road. In the summer when the ground is warm and my tyres burn I fly along here, using both lanes in a way that'll see me win the Isle of Man TT. Today I'm more respectful of the road conditions. I'm pottering. The winter brings it's own unique hazards; micro-climates. Little pathes of wet or icy road hidden behind a wall or building, waiting patiently to catch the unwary rider. But I'm aware. I move along steadily. Then as I approach a hill top I'm blinded momentarily by the afternoons low sun. The world and road around me disappear into a white emptiness. I can no longer see where I'm going. I shut the throttle and hope through memory alone I can feel my way to safety. I do it. I increase my speed again. The sun now to my left casting long shadows of trees onto the road. Black shadow hands with gnarled arthritic fingers caressing me as I pass.