Icelandic Biker

I can’t remember San Francisco being so consistently cold and wet in a long, long time. Yes, I know, compared to real wintry places and monsoon locations, I have nothing to complain about. But when the plum trees bloom in February and the cherry trees begin in June, we San Franciscans expect something different.

 

Today as I set off to ride my bike to the school where I’m helping out, it was 38 degrees. Colder with the actual wind chill factor combined with the wind created by biking. So I dug deep into my closet and unearthed an large Icelandic wool sweater. This was gifted to me in a memorable Orff course I gave in Iceland in 1995, co-teaching with a young Spanish teacher I knew just a little bit named Sofia Lopez-Ibor. We already knew that our teaching styles blended perfectly and were thoroughly enjoying each other’s company both in and out of the workshop.

 

One afternoon, we were taken on a walk up a hill to the Old Town and standing there looking over the city of Reyjkavic, I turned to Sofia and said, “I like Europe!” Dead silence. One minute later, she asked, “What did you say?” I repeated it. She seemed relieved and told me, “Oh, I thought you said, ‘I like your rib.’” That was a standing joke between us for the next 28 years!

 

So as I put on the sweater, I felt the double warmth of sweet Icelandic memories and the actual thick wool. I layered by jacket over it, put on my winter hat and gloves, wore a mask for warmth and headed off on my bike like some inflated Michelin Man. And for just about the first time in the last few weeks outside, felt warm.

 

At 1pm, I met my wife and brother-in-law at a restaurant and sat outside in the sun and I peeled off both the sweater and my jacket. This was the San Francisco March I’ve grown to know and love, to expect and cherish. But according to the weather channel, the mercury will drop again to 39 tonight. But no matter. I’m prepared.

 

Thank you, Iceland!