That's what Jon said about yesterday's ride. We started the trip in a blanket of snow and warm blue skies. Jon shoveled us out of Brian's house, and we were howling and heehawing the whole way out of town. After being indoors for three days, it felt good to be moving forward.

We have jokingly repeated to each other since the beginning of the trip -- starting on our second day of riding in the Black Hills -- that "today is probably the last good day for biking." That has continued to be the case for every day we ride. I think it's our way of setting our expectations low to maximize our satisfaction. If it's sunny and warm and there's no headwind, we are experiencing a miracle. Anything else is to be expected.

I am listening to an audiobook called The Art of Possibility by Rosamund Stone Zander and her husband (and famous orchestral conductor), Benjamin Zander. My cousin, Mary Marcantonio, recommended the book to us when we visited her in Denver. She works in mental health, I'm interested in mental health, and this book was the book to read she said.

I can't help but compare the book's thesis to our bike trip. If you accept that you live in a world of possibility, then no challenge is too big.

On the one hand, taking a bike trip in early winter in Colorado and Utah where you will inevitably run into cold weather, the daylight hours will be few, and the nights will be long and below freezing -- who in their right mind would do that?

But on the other hand, there are as many reasons or more to do a bike trip in the winter. The list is endless.

• What an incredible challenge for a couple who loves adventure -- physically, mentally, and emotionally.

• The snow is anything but a barrier; it is a unique feature of the landscape we would have missed entirely had we chosen to wait and do this trip at another time of the year. With the holidays just around the corner, there is something magical about being outside under the sky, the snow only inches away from our noses. The crispness of it, being just warm enough to enjoy winter as it's experienced by any other animal. Jon said yesterday that he almost felt like he was skiing.

We could be indoors somewhere warm comforted by space heaters and watching the world from our windows, but instead we have had the fortune of spending entire days pedaling and watching the seasons change before us in real time.

• We also get to see all these small town tourist destinations separate from the tourist industry and the flux of people that undoubtedly fill the streets and highways during the warmer seasons. Things move slower, there are fewer people, and the people we see and meet are the ones who live here year-round.

People are shocked to see us pedaling at this time of year, and yet they are curious. We have the strange and yet amusing opportunity of sharing with people that a winter tour is not only possible but thrillingly exquisite.

• Regardless of the weather, taking any bike trip can make one long for permanence. A house, a stable job, vacation time, a refrigerator where you can actually store your food, a private bathroom, etc. These are things I long for, anyway, mostly on the days the sun doesn't shine.

But on a day like yesterday, I think to myself: you are the luckiest woman in the world. You are married to your best friend. You are courageous enough to want to take this kind of trip and gritty enough to actually do it. You have a husband who loves adventure as much as you do. AND, you have the unique opportunity of experiencing your first few months of winter as a married couple in a way you will never forget, partly because in these conditions, you are being forced to really take care of each other's basic necessities. You are beginning to protect Jon's target, and that makes you happy.