Open the garage door to a just-arrived B*****heart and we set out quick in the very cold night. We stop sooner than later to re-up the glove and coat allotment. Bone dry, so no ice, but the cold has its way with the exposed. More bikes than cars and a pleasant trip to Snipper’s house. The last bit of Chairman’s sends us heading North with something extra. Could it be just us three versus the sparse Vendetta? Nope. The Bad Backer recants on his opt out, the Foz continues his diligent recent attendance, and Gerard the Rare checks in to protest his removal from the list. The EBMB, outfitted smartly in bits of haberdashery, cues up to the first blast of Halen and then runs the table (with the devil). He ends the night with his only loss to six impressive wins. The Spaniel returned to form with a 5 and 2 night, while the Foz and the Ice Scrapper that is me struggled just to break even. The Bad Backer exits home to sleep in the glow of his first hanger. The Toona breaks from our exquisite ride south just before we reach the Roadside. IPA, chips, salsa, and the firepit. Goodnight to the stokers, hello to the brisk ride home. Fix it down 39th. Hats and scarves inside the cars. 20 degrees sure feels like the coldest one ever.