I went for a bike ride yesterday. It was about -14 degrees with the windchill, kind of cold for a 16 mile ride. Toward the end of it, I had a memory of cycling over Logan Pass in Montana, part of an adventure I did two summers ago that started in Seattle and ended in Milwaukee. I think I had the memory because I was riding the Salsa, the same bike I toured on. It was a vivid memory, the type of memory that enables the past to blend into the present. Which was nice, given that the recollection of that July morning was one of warm summer expanse.