Cold. Cold. Cold.

The trees are frozen. My fingers are frozen. All of the things are frozen. It's -2 degrees here.
(I think that's about 22 degrees Fahrenheit, but it sounds more tragic in Celsius)

Coming from Vermont, you'd think that face-slap air temperatures would be like a care-package from home. But what I have learned, is that your "how cold can it get until my whining is socially justified?" threshold is greatly widened when biking is a daily aspect of your life.

All of you hardened mountain dwellers, hold your scoffs! This is not like, sporty biking, with the warmth suits and the sweat breaking. NO!

Here, one must bike in the cold and then walk into places appearing as if they didn't just go through an upsetting experience. One should even look trendy while their at it. (Hint: SCARF. IT'S THE SCARF.) This "chilled chic" is an art that Germans have been perfecting their entire lives. With practice, I might get up to their level. Maybe.


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