"The famous pipe. How people reproached me for it! And yet, could you stuff my pipe? No, it's just a representation, is it not? So if I had written on my picture 'This is a pipe', I'd have been lying!"— René Magritte[4]  "The Treachery of images" was painted by Rene Magritte perhaps intent to upset some, and to define what an object is, by what it is not, Pushing new boundaries in the 2-D art form, Magritte's illustration may have muddied an already unclear direction for modern art, or it may have sorted some things out, ushering a discussion about what it is. 
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The above "e-bike" may be the same sort of representation. It's a two-dimensional illustration on a flat surface, and you cannot ride the image, but Is this a bike? Is it a Triumph Motorcycle?, The answer is cloudy. I can tell you that it's not the Bicycle image that springs to mind when I'm asked to conjure one.  That is, that I don't commonly store the above image in the scattered papers of my brain, and pull it out when someone begins a fond story about their Bicycle. Using the Noun "Bike" loosely we could call nearly any self-propelled two-wheeled transportation with a seat and handlebar a Bicycle, but... Do they deserve it? When does the bike become something else?  If you were to meet someone at a dive bar, and they say, "Want another?" and you tell them "No thanks", (you can only have one beer, because), "... I'm on my bike" -- They may ask you excitedly, " Oh really!...What kind of bike do you ride?"  (Pause), fade to a silent moment with your thoughts: {she thinks I have a motorcycle}
We have all been there, The moment where you realize that they raised a brow, moving in closer, becoming chummy, imagining the free spirit of a winding road, wind in their hair, as in Easy Rider, only to discover that you meant "Bicycle" and now they are disappointed, because a moment ago they thought you were cooler, than they do now. It's not a motorcycle.
They thought you rode a motorcycle to the bar.  You tell them you,  "Um, ride a bike a lot", and -- They know it must account for your lean form, but your health is less socially important to them at that moment than it may be to produce a BMW R1200 GS, or to chat about their last Harley for hours. You quickly change the topic, and they look away, blankly bored as if betrayed by something.  ...Another  Pause...
Now, if only you rode the "Bike" above, you may be able to salvage half of their fantasy, Because it is motorized, but you will soon discover that any Biker version of the same story with an "E-Bike" will also end as betrayal. In particularl if they ask to go for a ride, or mention anything about Sturgis, South Dakota.
You see, the e-bike is not a motorcycle, and so it gets easily edged out of that camp, And you only need to go to one bar in the countryside to verify that fact. The "e-bike", -- What it is, may best be defined by what it is not... I'll put it to you again; Is the image below a bike?
​Really?

It would seem to me that "Bike" used to mean Bicycle; and with a "Motor" it would simultaneously become a new compound word; "Motor-Bike", or "Motor-Cycle" no? Let's back-pedal, and search for more meaning here. A bicycle is commonly defined and consensually agreed to be roughly the same thing in any language, and anywhere in the world.  It is true that some use them differently from the Flying Pigeon of China, to the Trek 520 from Wisconsin.  Bicycles are commonly seen and revered as the same thing, albeit mechanically a bit unique, as a Sedan would be to a Coupe, they are both cars.  But when a smug kid passes you on a path as you mash the pedals to a clip of 24 mph, and they smirk back toward you as they pass pressing their throttle, gloating at how much less work they are doing, and shaming you for not doing the same... Is this fricking punk kid riding a "Bicycle"?  No they are not.  
Back to basics, Does it have pedals? A motor assist bicycle is still a bicycle, right? hmm. Have you ever been clipped by someone texting and coasting at 20 mph on their "e-bike" while you and a friend are pedaling on a fast cat & mouse ride along your favorite course?  Have you ever dodged a Segway turning suddenly on a Bike Path?, or passed a Beach-Cruiser fitted with a growling 2 stroke motor?  Have you ever been startled when a motorized skate-board barrels onto the bike lane from the Convenience Store, with a burrito in one hand and a speed controller in the other?
I have, and I can tell you by that nuisance that, none of these are "Bikes", perhaps they have two wheels, and something to steer with, but they don't fit my definition of a bike. You can look it up for yourself, but I'm rather certain that most if all definitions distill down to the same, and that they all include locomotion driven by pedals, with a saddle and handlebars. The other Category being a "Motorized-Bicycle"  If you've not seen the animated film Wall-e, then you may not get where this is headed; But I can see a conveyor in the future where we all are carried from one visual stimuli to the next and even the shower in a motorized seat, with a cup-holder.  

 Is it really so dystopian to imagine everyone's forward momentum propelled by LiPo and a brushless motor?  It isn't.  If you haven't ridden an E-Bike, a Segway, or an Electric Skateboard, then you really should try them, but not on the "Bike Path". In Fact everyone should try one when they can, and if nothing else, some will be selected out of the pool naturally by an incident, while others will pass you smugly as you actually pedal your bike, or (gasp!) Jog by.  What is fundamental to the "E-bike" momentum is the need for stuff, and everybody may already have a bike, so why not also a bike with a motor?  Recently I saw a motorized bike that rides as a boat, and a motorized surfboard is making gains, as well as the venerable Jet-Pack, which we all were promised when we were young.  I want a Jet-Pack, and I've ridden all the rest, but I am not sure about the new category the "E-bike" being called a "Bike", in fact in Apple iOS Parlance, the "EBike" would most certainly be an "eBike", and however it is spelled, it is a conjunction of "Electric" and "Bike" so as such, it is not a Bike. When Rene Magritte painted a Pipe and boldly wrote in the piece that it was not what it appeared, the Polish-American scholar Alfred Korzybski (a contemporary of Magritte), was developing "General Semantics", he was quoted as saying, "The word is not the Thing", and the "Map is not the Territory", which aligns with the argument that Magritte made, that his illustration is not the thing, Nor an illusion, but a language. art, allusion, and language all fall short of the Thing. Quite like when Three patties, Bacon, Avocado, and a Cracked-egg, stretch the truth about what a hamburger is. Cheese curds, wings, and a slider skewered atop a bloody-mary edge both the burger and the Bloody dangerously close to becoming a new object.  So if we are all good with that concept, and the inevitable conveyor we will end up on after enjoying  the burger, the bloody to, and our eBike, --Then the illustration of both the bike and the eBike fall short of the experience of riding them.  The word bike is not the actual bike, true. It is however not cool to gloat that you don't need to pedal, while you zip past as if the Bicycle had advanced and I simply didn't get the memo. It's not a bike, if you have no pedals. If it does have pedals, but you cannot pedal it when it's out of batteries because it's too damn heavy, then it's not a Bike -- It's a Moped.  When we dip into our brain's romantic ideal of what a Bike is, applying fond nostalgia, of training wheels and a skinned-knee, that image in your head with the kick-stand down, chain grease on your cuff, glittering grips, and a chrome sissy bar... That bike, --'Click!', Capture that image, because that is a Bike.  So it follows both semantically, and generally that an eBike, may be fun, but it is not a Bike. Ceci n'est pas une bicyclette

Some used to think the earth was flat, and if you approached the edge, you'd simply fall off, as all good landscapes appear to do. Science prevailed over this theory, when real-world data came to bear, and yet some still held to their belief that the earth was flat.  Global Warming, may be rocking established tenets but there are steadfast nay-sayers who will die disputing that science. Whenever debate arouses the worst in us today, the smart money walks away first. You can persuade a reasonable person with facts, and figures -- But some just have to live out their own version to learn. I believe that the earth is spherical, but for some gadgets, I have to take them apart to know how they work.  I recently took apart my dryer, and searched for schematic, and instructions on the internet.  The predominant advice was that I'd need to cut my losses and buy a new dryer. N+1. I ended up breaking the whole thing down, and re-assembling it, in a few hours, and spent nearly nothing to fix it. Unfortunately Videos never seem to disappear from the web, and so as we pile more data on top of them, their helpful relevance becomes obscured like a pile of junk-mail concealing your refund check.  It gets daunting to shuffle through the mess. Even if you are careful you may lose something important between the pages of a Catalog, before you recycle the mounting junk. If you're cautious, you'll find the notice to renew your insurance, or find the property tax bill between an AARP invite, and a Frontgate catalog just before they foreclose.  Within the dark chasm of the internet, finding a useful video may be far more difficult, as the virtual paper mounts.  As search results profile who they think you are, the "True You" won't find what you want right away, (if ever). You will find what "they" want you to see, and they want you to get tubeless tires.  I'm thinking that some day people will pay big money for "Search" which correlates to what one wants, and that day is coming soon.  I'm imagining a "concierge search" which we willingly pay for, to filter a result unbiased by retail, or politics.  
I've recently looked up tubeless tires to see what people find by way of helpful tutorials, as they endeavor to sort this one out for themselves. Naturally there is some valid pro and con -- And results vary depending upon the glowing device used, and the search history of it's MAC address.  I've found tutorials for how to convert to tubeless, how to mount them, and how to fix them..., and never found them biased toward the lowly inner tube. Nobody was trying to convince me to stick with my inner tubes.  I found bed-of-nail testings, and a gauntlet of drivel from the early tubeless days, showing darts and ice-picks, and a slow rolling tire curing itself instantly from a hundred stab wounds, as if by divine intervention. Most top search returned videos with more views than I could imagine were real.  I found ways to convert to tubeless, and endless drivel about rim-strips, fluids, and methods, all spinning a myth that Tubeless is "The Answer". So convinced was I, that when done searching, I'd converted to the idea that when the messiah comes, she will lift us out of misery, and bring us all a bottle of "Stan's fluid". Perhaps some-day, we will bleed tubeless tire fluid. Although, I suppose we (kind-of) do now.

​I'm not going to lie to anyone here, but I will go out on a limb and state that Tubeless (while nice) may be a false prophet.  To vet Tubeless properly by a standard that we could all agree upon, I'd have to begin with the weight game, and move through the "No Flat" myth, before we arrive at what makes a good tire.  Through the maelstrom of fact and fiction we would doubtless land upon Tubes vs Tubeless doing battle, one with wings and one with horns, like any allegorical poem unfurls, most will find the result to justify their position. Much like any body politic, some would side with a group, and become deaf to the story the other's are listening to. This is one of those stories, where fair and balanced won't account for much, as one's mind-set slams the door behind it's decision. To begin, we should look at history.  The first Bicycle tires were steel bands wrapped around wooden spoked wheels on Velocipedes, which were not quite bicycles, but for brevity were their direct antecedent.
The next ones were rubber bands adhered to a similar wheel, and invented by Clement Ader in 1868, These tyres must have felt quite a bit nicer than the sketchy steel wheels.  Nearly 20 years later, in 1887 the Pneumatic tire was invented, by John Boyd Dunlop for his son's bike, to prevent his headaches from the jarring vibrations of it's forebears.  Dunlop couldn't patent his invention as a sketch by another man showed the idea was not necessarily exclusive to Dunlop.  Just the same, two years later, Dunlop started a Tyre company and made several improvements. By 1890 Dunlop Tyre was lining their tires with a canvas layer to prevent punctures. Serious cyclists began adopting this tyre for their bikes, realizing great speed control and comfort benefits. In the early days of the Dunlop Pneumatic Tyre Co., Tyres were attached to the wheels using special clamps. In 1891 Edouard Michelin began to make tires which were easily removed preferring to glue them to the wheel.  This allowed the removable tire to be serviced, changed and the inner-tube to be patched separately. For forever the venerable 'inner-tube' has made our lives more comfortable, more productive and even more meaningful. Bikes have enjoyed over a century floating on air, held in a cylinder of butyl, wrapped in cotton, and rubber.  We've patched them when they pinch, puncture, and pop.  We've watched tubes sneak out of the side of our tire before exploding in a flash of talc, unseated by months of neglect.  We've watched them get crusty and fuse themselves to a tire to become one body.  We have carried spares around the world, and deployed them to make land speed records, and win distance contests.  We've paid a king's ransom for a measly inner-tube simply to keep the corner bike shop in business.  I once changed 26 flats in one event stage, when someone scattered tacks on the course. A few years later in 2006 Shimano and Hutchinson introduced the first tubeless tire system for bicycles. The largest innovation from this introduction would be the refinement of clincher rim profiles to improve the tire's attachment and seal.
For the thousand flat's I have fixed, I too have had a love / hate relationship with the 'inner-tube'. But it's not the tube's fault, it's the fact that we want light tires, that allows the tube to puncture.  
When Tubeless came along, we didn't realize that we'd been driving cars without tubes for decades. We'd never considered how rarely a flat stopped our Holiday travel plans. We seldom considered that Trucks deliver both ways; some with tubes, and some tubeless...  We've cursed at Slime, as neon green goo sprayed forth coated we unwitting and frustrated to find a flat in-spite of the liquid preventive.  We've cursed at small wet-spots which constantly seem to spew like tiny acne geysers on road and gravel tires.  
The special sauce of tubeless is it's ability to deliver lower ridable pressures without pinch-flats. Plain and simply, tubeless gives us the confidence to roll softer tires, but is it "all that"?
It is true that I could ride sew-ups and nearly never get a pinch-flat. It is also true that If I rode  Schwalbe Marathons, I would seldom think about any kind of flat.  Really I'm not sure that Tubeless is "all that", because I still carry a spare inner tube, and ride regularly with CO2, pump, patch, and boot, just as I have always done.   I really don't get less flats with tubeless.  If you count the constant ooze from daily city riding, and the need to top-up pressures more often than with tube or tubular... It seems that we get more flats with tubeless, than with tubes. But we are comfortable, picking flakes of glass out of our tread, defined by a hissing white spew. 
Here is the marketing plus column for tubeless:
1. Lower pressure 
2. Lighter 
3. Less Down-time
Back to the bed of nails, and the mis-marketing... We tend to tout tubeless as puncture-proof, which is false.  We tend to also market it as a massive weight savings over tubes... Which does not always bear out. Take a tire with reasonable puncture resistance, and add a lightweight tube; what's the net?  It's generally a round 600 g. Now take a puncture resistant tubeless tire, with a valve stem, strip, and adequate fluid; what's that weigh? It weighs roughly the same. As a matter of fact, the weight of adequate liquid to get some Fat-Bike tires inflated successfully can border on the tube weight, but it is in the larger tires where liquid weighs less than Butyl.  Accounting for some seepage and evaporation, I likely have a pool of sticky goo stuck to the low spot of my fat tires rolling them out of balance like a shoe in a dryer.  I likely have the same finesse in my Gravel tires, and my road bike.  Because of all the tubeless fuss, the de rigueur tubeless fashion seems destined to remain optional. On a mountain bike trip, one would be foolish to pack only a plug kit, and pump. On a Bike-pack trip, it's advised to have all of the aforementioned tools, as well as spare tire/s and tube/s. If we are still carrying a Plug kit, tire boot, needle and thread, fluid, spare tube, CO2, pump, patches and glue, then is it really fair to give so much credit to the tubeless trend?
Lightweight and Reliable are generally at odds, and it's never been more true than how this applies to tires. If we could ride the same reliable steel-belted radials as our car's run-flats, then we would for certain suffer for speed, but never catch a flat.  A dutch bike fitted with Schwalbe's venerable Marathon tire will likely see no more than a flat per annum, and some never.  The weight penalty for the daily driver, means never needing to walk home. Never being stranded, and never struggling to free a chain-guard, fenders, drum-brake, and greasy chain, makes the trade reasonable.  I have seen the same tire roll (daily) for over 6 years flat-free in the war-zone of my city. My tubeless seem to grab a flat three times a year per bike, regardless.  
It's all weight ratios right?.. When we are counting grams, we cannot expect a worry-free solution. The weight savings will bare out more beneficial as the tire size goes up, but for the average 700/35 diameter, the clincher sporting a light inner-tube, vs. tubeless fluid, is lighter, if more prone to flatting. 
​Here are the numbers:
Inner-Tube
Good Tire: 490 g
Tube: 60 g
Strip: 25
Net 575 g
Tubeless
Good Tire: 490 g
Basic Valve stem: 18 g
Tubeless fluid: 2.36 oz 66 g
Strip 25
Net 599 g

Most marketing looked like a sadistic ritual acupuncture, but perhaps their creators thought we were stupid and needed to see the bad guy get shot several more times, just to underscore that he got his just deserts. In the end, no matter how may times you see a nail in a tire, you should wince for each and every one, because once this happens, tubeless of tube-d, it will typically mean some down-time. If you have ever hit a water pipe with a screw or nail, you will note that it never matters too much when the screw goes in, but what happens when it's pulled out.
Should anyone get the mistaken impression that I don't prefer tubeless, let me address that right away.  I do. We have already addressed the first two accolades of tubeless, 1. Low Pressure, I agree that lower rideable pressure is valuable and that it's something which a Tubeless system has over a tube, but we also note that a Tubular Tire, AKA a "Sew-up" almost never pinches flat as well, and that is some ancient technology which still outperforms nearly everything in real racing today. You could say the Michelin sew-up is king.
2. Lighter. In the basic set-up for a road-bike tubeless doesn't save much weight if any over a tube, or tubular, but it does improve weight over a tube at larger balloon and fat-bike tires.
3. Finally we have less 'down-time'.  In the stricter sense, we have less down-time if we get less flats, and walk less. This will depend upon your mechanical skill-set, ride style, and your environment. Mechanically if you are not adept you may suffer from poor execution on setting up your tubeless system, and so if you feel you may need some help, please find that.  It is no less important with tubeless than with tubes, to know how to maintain, change, and fix a flatted tire.  Everyone should learn this and know it cold, before they stray too far from home, lest they remain a burden upon their better equipped friends.   In a light-weight set-up, If you have a properly executed Tubeless set-up and you maintain adequate tire pressure, riding as the products intend, then you should get less down-time, than with a tube.  If you hear a hiss, and see white shit spraying from your tire, don't stop instantly in a pack of others, and if it's not flat, but hissing, you'd do well not to stop at all, because the liquid needs the centrifuge to push gloppy bits to the hole to seal it up.  If you can fix a flat, roll-out a puncture elegantly, and you don't mind losing air more regularly, struggling to open a gummed up valve which glued itself shut, then you should have a bit more up-time.
In all cases, you will still need to bring a back-up tire and tube, patch and a boot for any big trip. You will also need to know what to do with a pump, and when a pump is best, compared to CO2. As dusk sets on a lonesome road, and you've exhausted yourself and three CO2's trying to re-seat a dry and stubborn tubeless system while being eaten by mosquitos, in the hot July sunshine,  you will trade your first born for an inner tube, and the skill set to remember how it works. 

I got this in my inbox, and then laughed a bit, before having a deeper look. Zipp introduces a brand new ground-breaking technology, which looks really cool when you consider reinventing the wheel. I think they would have me believe that their new wide low profile rim is a completely new invention. They call it "3Zero Moto", and what it really is is the wheel from my 1956 three speed. OK, so it's not steel... What it also is, is a four year-old HED Carbon Fat Bike rim, or for that matter, any rolled rim from any shitty ten-speed circa 1960; Given, it's carbon. Here we see the very bleeding edge of marketing hyperbole, without a nod to it's forebears. Let’s take a closer peek, shall we? The revolutionary rim profile has a rolled or beaded edge, and no box section -- That's true. The breakthrough concept likely has a nicely locking bead for tubeless, and it perhaps costs way less to make than it's now obsolete analogous box-sectioned rim, because it's no longer necessary to accommodate flats for a rim brake, (shown below). Is it a break-through? In Fact, excepting the rust, and sharp edges, the Schwinn S-6 rim profile with rusty spokes poking through a dried up crusty rim strip is the Chrome-plated version of the new and revolutionary Zipp Concept called 3Zero Moto. The marketing goes on the mention the flex as being a bit more like suspension. Really?, it has travel? Perhaps not, but will you want to buy some? Sure. If you need a new wheel-set, then maybe these are for you. My guess is that they won’t do anything for you that brand “X” could not; But they are pretty carbon hoops laced to a nice hub. Groundbreaking? Nah!!, A placebo perhaps for people who need to believe in something new. But if you have a giant tire, soaking and smoothing the terrain, conforming and compressing under all fare of root and rock, is the wheel really changing the game? It seems the wheel is doing a fare bit of flexion, but the "Science" here is a bit of an over-reach.

Zipp Science: Lateral stiffness – In a sharp turn, the rim remains stiff, providing confidence that the wheel is firmly planted. Zipp’s wide hub flanges provide better spoke-bracing angles which help to increase the lateral stiffness.
Torsional windup – When torque is applied to the rear hub when pedaling, you don’t want the spokes to create a spring-like flex sapping your wattage. Having 32 spokes at the right tensions keep the wheel constrained during windup, meaning the energy in your legs is efficiently transferred to your rear wheel.
Radial Compliance – When you hit a rock, the system is designed to act as a shock absorber. Zipp’s MOTO Technology allows the rim to flex, which absorbs the impact energy and spreads it away from the impact zone for increased durability. In essence, more of the rim carries the load from the impact.
“Ankle” Compliance – Imagine a runner rounding a sharp turn, the ankle naturally flexing to maintain grip as the runner leans. The rim can locally flex to stay parallel to the ground during cornering, which increases traction much like a human ankle. This ability to twist locally allows it to deflect during single bead impacts without the rider getting bounced off line. 
All of the above "Science" is lifted directly from Zipp's Webpage.  I read it thoroughly, then looked for patent abstracts, and further details on the "Science" and found nothing with teeth. This is not to say that there is no "science" here to discuss, but if you observe the illustrations, and the rim is pivoting around the spokes which are centered to allow the Foot (rim) to roll below the "Ankle" (spoke bed) when pressured from a leveraged edge -- Then, like placing a pry bar beneath a heavy rock, you would of course expect the rock to lift on one side, and the other side to remain, somewhat as illustrated.  So if that is truly the science, then It is true that this is nothing new, unless there is a breakthrough bearing point in the rim, some special active socket, which is not shown. If the "Science" (Ankle Compliance) is meant to illustrate tilt of the rim edge whilst the static fulcrum (pinned by the Spokes) remains level and; If the rim is flexing to give way to a large path obstacle, then the "Science" (Radial Compliance) is a twisting rim. This isn't illustrated well here. Their Illustration shows the rim profile as a constant, but tilting, not flexion, where the rim would contort. Like a truck's rear suspension, the Ankle Compliance is illustrated properly showing one edge lift whilst the other is lowered.  I'm looking for the Science, but the illustration betrays the description. Ball and socket, ankle and foot?, or Compliant rim conforming to applied pressure from each side? Both perhaps? Either way, when I got my first BMX bike I longed for a set of wheels built up on ACS Z-Rims, which were glass composite flexy hoops, which because they sprang back, tended to keep shape in large drops and jumps, and not take the shape of the flat you hit...  So I think that this is what Zipp have invented (reinvented). Sans the 4 cross lacing of a late 70's ACS Z-Rim. we have a bit of flex, owing to the properties of carbon. Great, I have these wheels, they came on my fat bike five years back. The steel version came on my Raleigh 3 Speed, and countless Schwinns, c.1965. Oh!, coincidentally the shallow cross-section profiles are similar from Zipp to Z-Rim to Schwinn, and further. I'm glad that we now have disc brakes and that the carbon layup is now simpler, and less costly. As far as science goes, we take a Z-Rim, and reduce the spoke count down the middle, and what we get is the next big thing.  Reinventing the wheel is hard work.

Of course when every bike was a coaster brake, or even a rod brake there was no reason for a side profile to press a pad against.  In that spirit basic rolled steel rim from Araya, Rigida, and Schwinn are roughly the same as Zipp's "Moto Technology"; even the Westwood has “Moto Technology”. The only way to form pliable steel into a hoop in the 50's was Moto technology. Image left, is an extruded aluminum hoop c.1995 likely a Mavic Open 4CD or some such, whereas the wider one on the right is rolled steel, c.1965, decidedly not a box design. The Schwinn rim on the right is a simple rolled steel hoop seems to possess Zipp's "3Zero Moto Technology". Wow, that was a throwback. A flaccid flexible hoop, that keeps the tire on, and prevents pinch-flats because it is so damn flexy that it follows the terrain, and has little bead to speak of. Man, that was simple. Inventing something new today seems to be as simple as re-naming it. Complaining about Zipp's new invention may contribute to a silly Moral Panic, but it is sometimes justifiable, to curb your enthusiasm when it's just a hoop with spokes. I suppose the new normal is to tell a story, and stand firm. Little fictions, like My Dad invented "Some cool Shit", but when my friends called me out on it, I looked like a fraud. When being disingenuous becomes the status quo, we all get to bull-shit each other unchecked, right? Standing on the shoulders of giants allows for a great view, doesn't it? Now you can merely look over the fence at your neighbor's rusting 3-Speed, spy the technology that you will now call your own. Throw a through axle and 12 gears on it, and you have a breakthrough, ‘Moto’! meh!... I Wish I had a patent on "3Zero Moto Technology", whatever that is, (3-Speed wheel technology now borders on steampunk). I suppose it doesn't matter much when I already have this technology on my vintage Schwinn. I hope nobody minds when I call my 3-Speed Moto Technology revelatory.

Way back in your College days, no wait!!, before that.  Way Back when you were in Grade School, when the cool kids came to class with a Scooby-Doo Lunchbox, a Trapper Keeper, and the Good Pencils, with tip-erasers, you knew him, the once venerable PB&J.  You actually pretended that you didn't hang-out with him, as others ponied-up big coin for hot pizza in the school lunch line, you shuffled sheepishly by, head down, passing the final checkpoint (The Milk Lady), before taking a seat in the gym's make-shift cafeteria.  You carried a paper bag, with the top folded down and now the crease was torn a bit from sweaty hands, and soiled from your run through a shortcut on your way to school.  It was a dry day, (of course), because if it were not, your bag would be torn, and then crushed from safe-keeping in your jacket --Tucked against your stomach, as you climbed a fence, and ran through someone's yard en-route to school.
This humble bag contained simple provisions.  Your bag lunch glancing an embarrassed and wanton eye toward the "Hot-Lunch" which came on a tray, in neat compartmentalized foil, and plastic boats. You began to smell the "School Lunch" shortly after Reading, and it's intensity peaked just before the Lunch bell rang.  Peak excitement to leave class compounded with the dream of salty pizza, and crispy ice-berg.  But... You would be having none of it, as you meagerly handed your dime and nickel to the "Milk-Lady" who pulled your choice of Chocolate or White from a Dairy crate.  Really no choice there, as it was always chocolate.  I'm sure the stats bear out that most kids preferred the darker varietal, and perhaps this was to rescue the sad contents of your brown paper bag-lunch.  Square against the bottom of your bag dwell your old friend, someone who you pretended not to know or even look at while others were slowly flaunting their Piping Hot Pizza.  The trick was to eat your bag contents either before or after your friends dined, so that they didn't judge your measly meal.  Shame was the word.  Broke kid goes to school with bag-lunch, that conceals the generic scarlet letter which showed others that he was without "school-lunch funds".  It never mattered really, and was mostly in your head..., Perhaps all in your head?. The other kids barely noticed what you did or did not eat, they were busy chewing, while you were reviewing the existential calculous and economics of being lower-middle class.  The Bag lunch was the cuisine equal to non-branded slacks, and knock-off kicks.  You'd have been far better off owning your lunch-room strata, than to ruminate about comparatives, but you didn't.  No judgement, just take out your old friend and eat him, with relish. You may have a home-made treat in the bag -- Both sitting concave like a pillow beneath a cat, compressed into a nest shape by a much heavier orange, or apple. While others ate their pudding cups and twinkies, you'd make due with something baked at home. Surprised that now at midlife you're eating well whilst your classmates check their blood-sugar? Don't gloat!
PB&J; What is fundamentally wrong with PB&J?... Was it the pickle soaking through wax paper into the side of your sandwich?, was it the blackening banana?, Or the carrot sticks leaking slightly through the side of the bag? Were there chips?, Where are the Chips?... You don't know, because you were too ashamed to check.  Was it really so bad?, this kid you'd refused to sit with, who was actually already beside you, or on your lap -- as the room becomes more loudly animated by the frenzied sugar-rush of lunch-room gymnastics? You watch others, calculating the right time to roll the bag open and eat.  You are looking for a distraction, a moment to pounce on your brown-bag super-hero friend. The smells, the pure pavlovian power of smells... Alas you can take no more, and you reach onto your lap to reveal Exhibit A: "A Humble Sandwich". Like so many before it, and thousands thereafter, but always a bit unique, the venerable PB&J cut in half on the diagonal, came to your rescue.  No shame, No brand-name, just lunch.

These rations were assembled in a factory manner with a conveyor carrying bread across your kitchen counter, each layer added, and then smacked together before being cut, and  folded into Wax paper or tucked into a pleated sandwich bag.  The sandwich bag of the 'fold-top' variety, ...because zipper bags had yet to be introduced. 'Spread-Ratios' varied, some soaking through, some far too spare. Further variables from  Home-baked, to crusty bakery bread, to grocery-store soft white, the foundation of a good sandwich would yield a myriad outcome.  Many days this sandwich was perfect. Many more days the meager PB&J would be dry, and un-enticing.  Always the PB&J came to work and did it's job, and even, occasionally saved your life, but you give it no thanks now.  You rarely consider the option, as if scarred by a memory of some kid shaming your frugal family for not caughing-up eighty cents for Pizza.  Today, your PB&J likely costs 80 cents. It is going to be OK, so long as you can reconcile the past. Perhaps it was the time your older sister helped make them by chewing up whole peanuts to make the PB part. Yes, perhaps that's the scar, you need to face.
Today, you are scarred, you are begrudging your old friend , the PB&J which sits idly by like a misplaced toy, waiting to engage. You turn away from him, packing some sort of pre-fab protein bar which claims to be all your body needs.  A "meal-bar", with (X) grams of this or that.  You need look no further than your cupboard.  You needn't overthink this one.  That kid with the brand-name jeans is no longer around anymore to sit in judgement, and you are over this lunchroom status thing right? Go Boldly, be low-brow, and take a bite of your past. Own up to the fact that you betrayed your hero for status. He sat in your lap for crissakes, clearly you were there together.
You can surely make two or three of these for the price of one RX Bar.  You can likely go farther on the energy gained, and you will likely feel better about yourself. If you could just make up with the lonesome super hero who sustained you through most, (if all) of your formative years. The unsung super hero of youth, the PB&J awaits.  If you find the heart to make-up, then you will likely be a richer person for it. Find some new recipes, and get the gang back together. Find a "Grown-up" or "Fancy PB&J" So the next time you are starving, lonesome in a remote place, and craving any calories whatsoever, let your food fantasy be for a PB&J, and remember him fondly, as he was always there for you. Always...

Long Shadows mean one of two things: 1. that you have the whole day ahead of you, or 2. that you had better find a place to pitch your tent. For me, each day begins with coffee, and this morning I will not compromise. When traveling solo, I use the GSI dripper, and either of my stoves to boil water. When traveling with my pals, I'll often bring my Nanopresso, discussed elsewhere in this blog. The nano is great for desert trips, and places where coffee is a must, but water scarce, and the longer drip coffee of the GSI dripper is nothing more than a sock held above a cup, but a compact and effective if cleaner sock. It's not my favorite brewer, but it is my favorite small dripper. Ten Bucks, Paired with a melita filter for more coffee, with less spillage, and smoother taste. By the Way the GSI Grinder is a total P.O.S. I've tried several and needed to return every one. Seems that their Chinese OEM makes the handle square out of something less than good solid steel, and the first crank on anything lighter roast or peaberry, will break the mech right out of the box, Ive broken several, and so loved the idea that i even brought coffee into an REI to test the last one, before shaming myself and GSI for the trouble. Don't Bother... I've told GSI, and they have seemingly no control on this one. They need to send everyone back and recall any in the field, because it sucks.
​I grind coffee for Aeropress ahead of any trip and carry it that way until someone invents a solid tiny grinder. More coarse than Espresso, and finer than Drip, this gets me more mileage, and more flexibility in any application. Every adventure begins with coffee. It always seems to start out sunny. The adventure begins (although crisp) with bright sunshine. I lashed the gear to the bike and set out. It was gusty 56 f., and you know you can never trust the weatherman, NEVER, and so we cross our fingers, and leave.
Some of this spring is green, but no leaves yet, just darling little buds like the first sparse hairs in a Gym locker-room, timid, and reticent, amidst a few overzealous Crocus, and Magnolias peeking about. It seems, guarded, lurid, & coed. The wind, unrelenting from the west, and as luck would have it, (dread) That was my direction. Two questions clarify, "How long can this wind remain this strong?, and "Will I have enough caloric mojo to get there, working triple time into a monster head-wind?" The houses seemed firmly planted, in-spite of a tune-out fictional fantasy of funnel clouds, and bicycles flying through a miasma of twirling debris, wagons, wheels and flying monkeys.
I set off head-on, and I rode in that tuned-in but tuned-out manner, when one loses the time, and gains it back through a mindful grinding forward, absorbing absolutely everything, and nothing at all -- Oblivious to most daily crap.
I rode with my head down, in the drops, and thought fondly about the specific bike-pack which may house my chap-stick. I thought fondly about how cool the wind was, how it evaporated my lips, and dried my eyes, and how perfectly my Tempesta jacket curved over my bent spine as I cut forward like one of those "crazy cyclists" heading westward just after dawn to no place special. The destination was a campground which had opened to the public just a week prior, and I'd hoped to find hardcore campers there, along with eager fish, in the lakes and streams. The route took me through farms which kicked up more gusts as the cold black un-planted soil warmed beneath a bright sun, creating a heady scent, and an upwelling torrent which clashed with the clear crisp blue morning haze for dominance. It would be windy all day. Like my city of tall cold skyscrapers, where warming glass reflections pushed cold downward, and rising heat gusted like a chimney often making cross-winds sketchy. I knew the routine, but with a direct head-wind at least I didn't fear the bike pushing out sideways from beneath me. I felt as if someone were showing me how to ride, and held my shoulders while I stood in place straining toward them. Tough wind today made the case that things may end a bit differently. The farms expanded like quilts, into a warp and weft of turned black soil combed in a tufts of wispy grey thatch patterns like woven rugs, and Triscuits soothing the memory of Grant Wood, or Andew Wyeth. Cows, glanced embarrassed, zen-like puzzlement toward me like each passing truck, stupefied for me working so hard. People were not used-to, and never seem to reconcile themselves to the lonesome bike-packer. Damp Wisconsin farmland rich with color and wet spring smells. Clear blue skies stuffed with fluffy cumulous clouds, breaking and joining like a feral cat & a pillow tumbling in a dryer of blue.
My audio book stayed my panic about losing great time to the head-wind, I descended into a mindless fiction, thinking only about chapped lips, and cheeseburgers, the spy novel allowed me to further detach from the typical re-calculous of a "plan-B". I stayed true to my travel plans, re-adjusting my body to re-shape for aches, and seat position. I rode westward with a pack-rod, a tent, pad, and bag. The essentials you'd see on any great bike-pack check-list, only I was decidedly short on provisions, planning to stop someplace to eat. I turned the cranks mindlessly until I was so well out of town, and so free from "civilization" that I no longer gave thought to how slow I was traveling, but how near or far the next road-side attraction my be which featured a Cheeseburger. It's not that I wanted only a cheeseburger, nor that I even preferred one, but being that I was in Wisconsin, It seemed realistic that the options boiled down to this, Cheese Curds, and perhaps Grilled Cheese. Nothing gourmet was planned, and I held out no hope that a gastro-pup lie between my front wheel and my destination. Just being realistic with expectations that's all... And so I soldiered on for the next few hours.

​

May I make a suggestion?... If you are going to travel with a rod and reel, it's novel to anticipate the time it takes to whip your thing out and dip it in the water.  As with all romantic ideas of a great SLR, or fancy-pants camera and a full set of lenses -- a Pack-rod, Like a point and shoot should be just as simple to carry as it is to take out and shoot with.  If you have anything more than that -- You are lying to yourself.  "The camera which takes the best pictures, is the one you have with you when you frame the shot", (-M) and a fishing-pole is admittedly that much more difficult to have on the ready.  I've researched this to death, and after settling upon a few favorites.  One day, overzealous, perhaps, but just as eager to fish, I dropped the tip of my St Croix Rod into a lake, I decided that telescopic made more sense than separates.  The trouble with telescopic is generally length and sensitivity.  While it's practically impossible to make a great pack-rod, and harder to craft a telescopic pole to be as sensitive and good a caster as a single blank, or one which breaks apart in sections -- It's not impossible however, to find a great pole that's got a light action, and the sensitivity of a sibling, in a form that's reasonably speedy to deploy.  I've settled on a Shimano.  You already know Shimano right? that they make good bike kit, and you may know that they apply the same innovation to the fishing biz; But what you may not know, is that there is a virtual analog between the two industries and that Carbon, Aluminum, and Shimano stimulate growth in both camps using un-rivaled engineering.  
I won't pretend to know what all of the initials on my pack-rod mean, but I will show you a picture of the pole and the bag to get that sorted. And so there is sits upon my carbon handlebars nested in an ingenious case with my faithful Abu Garcia reel, and a tiny steel box for lures, and leaders.  The venerable king of the collapsibles.  A true grab-n-go rod for the novice, or the seasoned casting rod pack kit. If you don't travel everywhere with a collapsible or inflatable canoe in your trunk, that's perfectly fine, but if you could... would you?  I for one won't generally tote a .22 on my bike, nor a Glock, or a set of rabbit traps, or Golf clubs, but what sport aligns itself more astutely to rolling about the countryside than fishing?, and what you do with your pole is entirely up to you.  But you can't use one if you leave it at home.

This kit is tiny, light and well protected, and can be slung simply on a bike or back-pack, and can actually be with you when you amble upon a stream, or lake. Unlike your DSLR, that you left at home for the third vacation because it's "too bulky", "too risky for where you are traveling", or "not water-proof", the pack rod shown here is adventure worthy, and can be wielded, and baited  in a few minutes simply enough for a couch-bound stoned-teenager to find it simple.  Anything more difficult or large would be impractical and likely remain at home.  So when I get to the lake or see a stream en-route, I fantasize about catching the big one, and although Most of what I may catch is decidedly not... I enjoy the added speculation the fantasy affords.  If you get this pole and combo it with your favorite reel, be sure to bring a bobber, or even a cork, or stick, to float out a bait, while napping.  It's serene and relaxing to chill beside a pond, and soak the sun, and you will thank me when you have forgotten the moment for a spell, and wake to see your bobber dragging below the drink, with no effort whatsoever -- "Fish On!". A piece of tent line for a stringer, and a pocket knife can resolve the finest trail-side meal a spare hour can invent.  If you never take the pole out, it may be that you are having too much fun, but when you need a reprieve from a gusty day on the bike, and you can align your breathing with the shallow lapping tides of a breezy pond, what lay below the surface, could save a dull day, or even you life, if you can't find that hamburger stand.

So as it happens, we depart, and often we lose ground when we fixate upon the arrival.  Getting there is the journey by the way. And while the arrival time may vary, the trip will surely un-hinge if our only concern is only our arrival time.  Surely I like to be prompt, and also enjoy making some schedules, reserving time for assorted activities.  Everyone enjoys their free-time differently, and some more than others -- But it is never as fun to keep schedules, as it is to dispose of them. When we were young and traveling by car everywhere, (for the economics of it), we were sure of a few things, and one was that there would be fighting, complaints, and a breakdown along the way.  Today we travel more by plane, and this allows all sorts of new opportunities, but It is almost always certain that something will go wrong with the connections along the way.  In the world of economy air-line travel, it is almost inevitable that a plane will be late, a connection missed, and an arrival time will lapse without you there.  Where travel used to be about the next roadside attraction, and a long meal with pie and coffee at a diner, Today's weekender has become a power-bar and a magazine while you postpone dinner hoping to get there instantly as if by galactic transport.  You won't though..., and your trip knows that you will be better off coming to terms with delays before encountering them, accepting delays before the inevitable disappointment comes to bear. We travel to get places today, instead of collecting memories, stories, and friendships en route.  I'm not much of a talker, but you will find at the core of the lonely passenger, the tendency to "tune out". Virtual removal from seat 26A seems to be the cool thing to do. The guy across from you wearing shades on a rainy day, wearing noise cancelling headphones, and discretely straining to act detached, as though there were no other people in your giant aluminum cylinder.  We evolve some of this behavior, so soon everyone seems to disdain the person next to you, striking up small talk.  We put on the shades, and headphones, not to enrich our world, but to press mute, to pause the action until we arrive in our destination.  It's a bit like trying to get out of the bathroom without touching the door handle.  We leave no trace of ourselves on the plane, as if committing a crime where the only evidence we drop is a piss and some single serving wrappers.  Sometimes we rush to get to a place where we just sit, or stand, as in a golf tournament, or on a beach.  It's ironic to rush to get to a place to relax. It's odder still to admire the douche who is passing off the farce that they can leave Chicago, and arrive in SFO and not speak to a soul, leaving no mark nor conversation, tuning out everyone as un-clean. We race to get there, and forget to be anyplace, even where we are heading.  I'm guilty of wanting to be left alone with a fiction. We are doing more in less time, and think the French have it all wrong, when they can sip a half ounce of espresso for an hour. Americans have less vacation than nearly every western nation, and some in the east. We do things fast and cheaply.  When we need a pen, we buy a pack of twenty and drive 15 minutes to the warehouse store to get it. This is a decay. Some people run the Pacific Crest trail in an "Ultra" race to do it the fastest.  So suffice to say I don't really know what slot that ball fits into, but it's a bit misshapen.
Well as schedules go it's generally always bad to rush a trip. A Bike Trip, even an overnighter may steady the sails, and help to ground ones restless wanderlust, but when time is constrained and you are going nowhere fast, you will arrive both exhausted and disappointed.  It is likely best to shorten the course and enjoy the ride.
Several Hours later I would arrive in the woods, passing no taverns along the way.  I did however get pulled over by the state sheriff, for ignoring a detour which would have added 1 more hour to my trip.  Wide detours are no problem in a car, but to segue many miles when the path is literally a smooth 20 foot slab of pavement under a highway overpass, is silly.  He said I trespassed through a work zone, rolling my bike The equal to walking from ones living room into the kitchen. Forbidden, by a cone, and a barrier, that the cop happened to sit upon in his car, whilst touching up paperwork for radar infractions.  The cop stopped me for continuing under the highway, which although marked, "closed" became his little private troll pad, where he waited to gun speeders, and likely surf porn.  The Cop pulled me over because he didn't like me in his space.  He told me that he would have to issue a ticket for $180. because I "broke the law". ON MY BIKE? I was now being threatened with a ticket, although I'd explained that with the headwind and my next destination (over a hundred miles ahead), the detour seemed unreasonable.  
"Fuck this guy", I thought, and I'm sure he thought the same -- as everyone does, who sees a loco bike-packer riding some place instead of just buying another fricking car.  Our distain was mutual, although I offered that (I), "wouldn't do it again, but that "..."I needed to make up some time, and the detour was far to long to make my schedule".  Wait... Wasn't I just waxing nostalgic about the journey, and not being in a rush, and why being able to "give in" to the ebb and flow of the journey would enrich the experience?  Yep, that was me.  Hypocrite! 
So I offered to pay the ticket, recognizing that I'd broken the law, and also had lost my place in my audio book, with a drawn out discussion.  I was now ready to pay and carry on.  He was bluffing.  He likely did have a statute handy that I violated, but I was not willing to straddle my bike under his overpass, calling his bluff. Paying the fine would have liberated my mind, and released me from his idiotic threat.  I wanted to pay the ticket truly, and when he absorbed that, he rescinded, saying, "if you are caught again you will get a citation". "Yes, (I thought) I will", as I imagined doing the very same thing on my return trip.  The portly Trooper pulled forward to clock another speeder, fast food wrappers on the passenger seat, as I slipped silently out of his overpass into the headwind.
It would be another few hours before I had arrived at the woods, which was good, because I got to meet a nice cop along the way, and have a lovely chat.  
When I got to the Park entrance, I waited behind a two-ton Cummins diesel truck, at the park gate belching black smoke from two coffee can tail-pipes. They were paying the entrance fee, and I was next in line.  Generally I would slip past, but I have more respect for the Rangers, than the cops, and my registration (if required) would perfectly punctuate the point for why the giant 2 seater truck with nothing in the bed, should pay 20 bucks, and would not.
I grabbed a trail map, sighted the campsites, and the lake, and broke out my pole and a snack.  As I ate my bar, I'd imagined a fish on my line and a hot lunch in moments.  Nothing bit, except the wind, which rippled across the lake.  I took a few casts with a few lures, and saw nothing.  No eager spring fish starving for my Mepps spinner. I cruised to a weedy spot, and rolled around the empty lake sighting no nibbles, just some pangs in my own stomach.  The prairie, had just participated in a controlled burn and looked very spartan, like  napalm in a rural village. The surreal burnt environment made for a less welcoming respite. Beside the cool lake, the howling wind and my hunger were bending my mind toward another destination. The fish were hiding, and the brown would turn to green a bit more each day, but something was off here, where everything was scorched, like a wasteland. The temperature was lower behind the cloud veil, and the sun seemed filtered, and less intense.  I pulled my phone out, ignoring several updates, and checked the weather. It was now April 13th, and my lovely Saturday would be followed by falling temps, and precipitation.  Duck and cover, or ride the storm out?  What should I do?  One can never rely upon a forecast, so I checked several locations, nearby, some within reach and some further out, to see how localized the imminent front was.  It seemed confirmed that we would have a pelting.  Today lovely and verdant -- Tomorrow, it all goes to shit.  Still hungry, no fish. Scorched earth, and accumulating clouds.  The way back would be fast, really fast, with a gust directly behind me.  When you trudge up a sled hill you get to slide down, and when you climb the rock, you get to rappel.  So if I wanted to bail on this overnight, I could surely get that Cheeseburger, with nothing but 55 miles and scorched earth to show for the effort. 
I'd even get to tarry with the State patrol again, this being the only way back to my base-camp. I was looking forward to the challenge.  
I explored the terrain, and meandered for a while. Water spigots were still off, and the firewood was spartan.  And so I bailed.  I left and sailed back roughly the same route, but nearly double speed. I'd face inner defeat, and the same sheriff. I headed east to may previous campsite beside the big lake. I found a gastropub along the way, and I sat at the bar beside a 10 year old kid in a Karate Uniform, doing Fractions. I ate something considerably less gastro, than pub, and rode the final 15 back to camp-site One, where I pitched the tent and read. The next morning the wind howled, and the clouds were swollen with water which misted and seemed to spray from all sides.  I packed in the gear, and lashed it to the bike as thicker flakes accumulated.  The white winter witch was back, to remind everyone that Spring comes with baggage.  This Bitch was now snowing in earnest, mid-April erasing any verdant patches with cold wet crystals, I was gathering white on all of my sharp corners. We had spring last week, as I recall, with a few days in the 60's and now It looked like a Christmas Story.  As I balled my hands in the gloves, I was falling out of love with my overnighter.  I had to keep the fond feelings packed away someplace in my head, while my psyche faced the upset of  accumulation.  I rode toward home through a real snow-storm.  Homeward bound in thick sticky mid April snow. I struggled to keep the wheels beneath me, with sloppy wet shifting snow, steering me off-course. I rode in spite of Spring's rage, and thought thankfully about the conspicuous lack of wind.  The gusts had subsided, and now it was only heavy driving snow.  I was miserable, like Bukowski in Post Office, facing the worst hardship of any letter carrier ever... I wanted sympathy, I wanted a reprieve, and a relaxing weekend.  I wanted Spring to start so bad that I'd rushed her into something without consent. By the time I got home, soaked through..., 5 inches had fallen. I peeled off my kit, and dripped onto the tile staring out the window in disgust.
Spring is a cruel bitch. You can set yourself up on a date with her, which may be a date with disappointment.  As races go, when you are going the distance, and going for speed (as it were)... If you are not in such a hurry to get there, neither you nor she will be heartbroken, as you collapse in a wet heap. 
I changed my l'attitude, took a hot shower, sliced some limes, and made a fresh mescal margarita,  then I read a magazine while another 3 inches fell.  

Wiggle Your toes.
It always depends upon when you hear this phrase, really...  I've heard this from caregivers, doctors, parents, friends, and from toddlers.  It nearly always comes attached to some wisdom. Sometimes that wisdom is in recovery, sometimes playful, and sometimes it is merely what we tell ourselves in the hollow space of our minds, as we slog on through a cold walk, run, ride, hike, ski, or paddle.  Generally this is the best time to hear these three words, underscoring that you are alive, still.  You won't find any wisdom here however, so if you are ok with that... Carry on.
When you are cold through and through, and you hear it, that means you are alive, and probably having fun.  When you hear it from a toddler, it may indicate playfulness.  So one should not lament the words unless someone is asking you to do so, when you awaken; As in, "Can you wiggle your toes for me?" ...Under no circumstance do we hope to hear this question.  
It may come as no surprise, that when you are voluntarily trying to circulate more blood to thaw your cold toes, you are doing fine.  Your command over these elements perhaps well beyond the locus of your un-trained mindfulness. In films there are ninjas who can slow heart-rate and respiration to convince someone they are dead, or to conserve oxygen, or fuel. We are not that Ninja. If you feel the prickly needles like practice acupuncture in your phalanges, you are alright.  If you feel the slow creep of nothing moving inward from the tips toward your arch, it may be a good time to talk to your toes. Me, I have tried to be aware of my wellbeing to the extent that I can control things like nutrition, hydration, vitamins, sleep, and the like, but try as I may, I can't seem to meditate away the cold to stave off numb fingers or toes, which to me seems rather absurd.  Consider you are doing something athletic, outdoors, Snow-Shoeing through the Woods, toward your blind to shoot an animal, and your toes, get cold.  Should you wiggle them? Wait!, what?, you already are wiggling them, and your vascular system is working overtime to move blood to your legs, and lactic acid burns your quadriceps, and your glutes, and your neck, back and head are drenched in sweat... So what is it with fingers & toes? Why can't they get on board with the system?  What is preventing them from overheating? Why the hell then are they so cold?
It's useless actually, to coax your will into some extremity --  To try to re-shape the outcome of your reticent digits, with mindfulness.  The Wiggle rarely if ever works, and now you are faced with the option to
A. March onward,  is cold defiant suffrage to your toes.
B. Stop someplace, drop a boot, and rub them.
C. Wiggle your toes, as if you were that ninja.
Here the choices seem simple enough, and the outcome still appears rosy.  You merely need to choose, one of these and soldier on. Of course you know that B & C make less sense, because when you wiggle your toes, no relief comes... If we are being honest with ourselves; and if you remove a boot, and your gloves to do so, you are exposing your cold digits to more cold. You could of course forget about them, and keep moving, but that doesn't seem like a proactive option, but rather like ignorance. The fact is, your toes are losing the battle for warm blood-flow, and you are pretty much fucked.
I'm happy to report, that the experts say the same; and consulting several sources for survival you will find the topic as mish-mash as this one.  Don't wiggle your toes, rub them? Who knows?
What is key in your decision is how much time you have, and how far you are from a "warmer" place, or a friend with some "Hotties" Hand Warmers. You know the little packets of magic sand that you open, shake, and stick in your boots, to bring back circulation. These work!, but only if you have them, and only if your metatarsals aren't well past the point to warm up themselves.  Sometimes your toes are unwilling, and warm water becomes your best bet.  Look Out! however, because warming up can be far more painful than the dull numbing throb of cold toes. The slow pump of battery acid creeping through your capillaries, spiking and burning your limbs is the inevitable come-back, and it is quite unpleasant, which is why I'd have to say, you should forget about them until you know you can manage to actually do some good. A warmer place is ahead, but it's going to cost you.
What I'm happy to report is that the toe topic has been tabled, because we have at long last rounded the corner.  We have escaped amputation or worse death, as we matriculate to Spring 2019. It's not only amazing that we left that Shit-tastic Polar Vortex behind, without major casualties, but that we still have our sanity, (knock wood). I'm sure the best is yet to come, but there is another side of this which needs to be addressed, and that is the slow burn.  The bulb which dims so gradually, that we are not sure why we are sitting in the dark unable to read our paperback, freezing our asses off, shelling out ransom for Natural Gas.  When the shift comes, around the proverbial corner, which by the way is unknowable... We are unaware that "Spring" is en route, because the shitty slog through months of slush and styro-foam-like snow, is so entrenched in our actual psyche, that we cannot literally recall a time when things didn't just suck.  So... fucking tah-dah!, "Spring".
My guess is that you missed it.  You could not have seen it's arrival like a predator, until it's jaws are on your throat.  Spring is here, and we should rejoice, but we are so jaded, and gun-shy, that we won't believe it until the fucking icebergs are melted from the Big Lake, and you've forgotten where your gloves and hat are... Spring is Here, and we won't believe it until the easter bunny has been eaten head first, and you've swept up the last pine needle from the tree you threw out three months back.  Spring is here and you will know it when you see it, but you are not sure what form it has assumed, and what it actually looks like because it's an estranged relative, or high-school friend whose name you cannot recall.  When you see her, should you say hello?

Thinking of Spring, and the long thaw, it's important to bear in mind that if you are at this stage, and you're no longer wearing two pairs of socks, and long undies, and your switching to thinner gloves, You are a survivor. You have to look forward to a new phase in your constellation of outer-wear, and that is the Rain.  When the rain comes we know it's spring, because it doesn't stick.  We are in for a real treat, because Spring is a cold bitch, under whose rainy skirt is a spot of sunshine, which you can only catch a glimpse of if you pay her close enough attention.   Break out your slicker, and rubbers, and enjoy the thaw.  The cold rain will sting you with the same prickly chill of your thawing toes, but this time it will be different because you have won. No, you can't find your hat or gloves, but you have 6 months to look for them.
I am aware it's always raining someplace, and typically so in the UK, and I'm not sure if Pete was writing this to a woman, a man, or to Spring, but oh man I need a drink...

"On that dry and dusty road
The nights we spend apart alone
I need to get back home to cool, cool rain
I can't sleep but I lay and I think
The night is hot and black as ink
Oh God I need a drink of cool, cool rain."
Love Reign o'er Me by Pete Townshend performed by The Who.