At the Kancamagus Pass (2855 feet above sea level) I pulled over and took a breather-I really had no other choice-and pondered my options. I could play it safe; turn around and head back to Conway. From there I'd pick up the interstate, which would put me on a southeasterly trajectory. The trip home would be boring, and it might be wet, but at least it'd be above the freezing mark. Or I could continue on, hoping that things might get better at the lower elevations. Like they say, God hates a coward-of course he wasn't about to find out how well a motorcycle works as a bobsled was he? So down the hill I went. As I engaged the clutch the sun made a brief appearance, the diffuse light gave everything a surreal quality that I'd have liked to share with someone, but since no one else was foolish enough to be there I couldn't.