A Cold Ride: A Short Story That Actually Happened

It was a cold December morning when I rode my motorcycle onto the interstate. My hands began to freeze beneath my two layers of gloves before I reached the five mile mark.

At the 20 mile mark, I started talking to myself.

How long does it take before frostbite starts to set in? I asked myself as the world blew past me at ninety miles an hour. I think this wind is giving me frostbite. The only thing I can feel under my gloves is pain.

Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t get frostbite if there’s no frost, I replied. It’s not called windbite. 

It’s thirty-four degrees and there’s a windchill factor involved, I argued. It might be frostbite. And look! There’s frost right over there! 

On either side of the highway, long rows of planted crops were sporting a very festive shade of white.

Well, shit I thought. I guess it could be frostbite.

Epilogue: When I arrived at my destination, I went inside and ran hot water over my hands for ten minutes and felt better. No fingers were lost. For a while, I was worried about my toes, but they’re still attached as well.