Whether you’re a walker, biker, motorist, or solar-powered scooterer, those Winter mornings sting the lungs and other appendages before you’re ready for it. Personally, I hate nothing more than that cold effing steering wheel before the old Integra has had a chance to heat up, which usually happens the second I roll into my parking space at work. Hey, it’s a ’95, give her a break. But what I have come to respect is a decent pair of gloves. No, we’re not eleventeen anymore, and it is unacceptable to wear your ski gloves unless you’re on the slopes – Think George Costanza and him thinking women are impressed by lift tickets. It didn’t work for him. This Winter, I am looking to Filson to fill the role as I lost my BR ones last year. Like my car, though, those badboys served me well for many years. It was the incessant windshield scraping and shoveling out of my wheels that did them in. I hope goatskin is tougher.