Monday morning 6.30 in Eureka, Montana: Holiday, fresh snow, company of friends (all asleep). Putting on my running gear and quietly leaving the house while it is still dark. The main road through Tobacco Valley is not far and and as I am trying to carefully place my feet on the slippery surface, my breath freezes.
The only sound I hear comes from under my feet as my shoes crush the frozen snow. The sensation remains fascinating every day. I run.
Later on, after a true American breakfast, we leave the house to spend a wonderful sunny day skiing in Whitefish.