What did I have to do for Greg?
My ace support crew and I had to drive 300 miles north to visit our son and his family. I had to pedal the Ogre into the mountains, up a steep road that turned into dirt. I had to search desperately in the shady ditches near the summit for frozen remnants of earlier snowfalls, because no fresh snow in weeks. I had to deal with a dearth of raw material, all of the entirely wrong consistency. I had to handle snow that crumbled like stale styrofoam when I tried to mold it into a fat, jolly fellow. I had to get my cycling gloves completely soaked, which froze my hands on the downhill. I neglected to bring lumps of coal, a carrot, a pipe, a scarf, or a jaunty hat as finishing touches.
So, Mister “I live in Minnesota and we have plenty of snow for this kind of nonsense,” don’t you try to tell me my miraculous snowman looks like a mutant baby snow chipmunk!