The ending of the 2019 cycling season

Last year I had some kind of weird feeling. i had transitioned from jobs September first. My job at the bike shope was an easy 1 commute. That did not stop me from getting lazy and making it to work with minutes to spare. On September 1st I started my new job and it was 10 miles away! Instead of 10 am start time was at 7! My body literally went into shock. 
I did get organized and figured 5:15 was a good wake up time and I would roll out the house before 6am and make it on time. I rode all days of the month of Sept, Oct, Nov and december. I had put it into my head that a 6k season was possible. I took rides on the weekend and then Danger Dave told me I should shoot for 7k. 
It was a bit of a stretch but I said "what the heck?". I rolled every day and was feeling great. On the weekends I kept my 515 am schedule and would be rolling on my fixed gear into Chicago. At that time everything was quiet. The Mexican bakeries were open and the laundromats. The air was crisp and more often than not the elusive sun was out. 
I had this yearning to explore a bunch of places I had in mind for years. 
I checked each one off my list as if it was my last chance. I connected roads and places using Google Maps. I got thrills accomplishing the places on my bucket list. Then December came and the calculations were starting to become impossible. I rode and rode and the 7k was not getting there. Why was I doing this? It certainly was not a Strava challenge but a personal one. I wanted to push myself like the old days. 
I wanted to get "something" done, a goal, a milestone. December 31st rolled around and I had 78 miles to go. It was snowing and cold. I literally lost all hope. My wife needed to go get a medical procedure done around the middle of the day. "Go ride" she said. But be home by 11 am. Without any hesitation I suited up and grabbed my Salsa Blackborow 5" fat bike. I had some hope but the time was not enough. 
I rolled back at 11 with 38 miles on the fatty. 40 to go. 40 measly miles that I could have done earlier. 40 of the 80 miles that my garmin ate up during the year. I was a bit dissapointed but dealt with it. The procedure was over and we rolled back home where wifey settled into bed to sleep off the anestesia. Why don't you go finish your miles, she said. 
I knew she understood my dilema and I was out the door on that fat bike within minutes. It got colder and I took a backpack with some extra supplies. I ended up getting soaked and cold from sweat. I stopped at a goodwill and picked up a fleece sweater and scarf for 6 dollars. I took the wet layer and carried it in backpack. It got dark out and I switched on the lights. 
Mile after mile the 40 mark did not come. Then all of a sudden it happened. I roared into the cold air as I had accomplished my goal. The 7k mark was mine to keep. I rolled home, showered and celebrated later with my wife and daughter. It was a great ending to 2019 and we were so looking foward to 2020. My body ached but it felt good. My trusty Blackborow had carried me 78 miles on the last day of 2019. I will probably never forget that for a long time. 
I got the congratulations from Danger Dave. He had secretly been out there in the cold and darkness conquering his own demons. 
thanks for reading. 
Ari 

Found photo. Left to right. T.J,Cookie, Ari and Gumby. 5 spoke wheel bike is not ours, unfortunately.