I battled my way for 12 blocks through mountains of snow and against treacherous winds, while teetering on the back of a bike.

My mission: Pick up an order of chips, guacamole and a grande quesadilla and deliver it to a banker at Morgan Stanley.

The gusts whipped my cheeks raw as we turned the corner to Blockheads restaurant on 50th Street and Ninth Avenue to pick up the food.

This is insane, I thought. Even for a girl from Iceland, which I am.

A grueling 10 minutes later, I arrived at my destination: the storied investment bank’s world headquarters on Broadway and 48th.

I called up the customer. “I’ll be right down,” he said.

I dismounted the bicycle, tore off my goggles and tried to shake off the icicles matting my hair before entering the skyscraper’s marble lobby.

The customer kept me waiting for eight long minutes — about the same amount of time it took for my harrowing journey through the storm.

“Is it cold out there?” he asked me, while signing the bill on my iPhone.

“Is the sky blue?” I wanted to reply.

He handed the phone back and told me to “be careful” and walked away.

The bill was $25.53 total. He had tipped me $1.75.

That’s less than 7 percent.

If blood could boil in a blizzard, mine was.

“Yeah, people can be real a–holes sometimes,” said Adam Price, owner of Homer Logistics, the delivery firm that let me be a food deliverer for a day. The firm handles orders for more than 70 eateries in Midtown West and Chelsea.

My next stop was Ollie’s Sichuan on 42nd Street and Ninth Avenue to snag an order of beef with spicy BBQ sauce and veggie dumplings. Another lazy Manhattanite was yearning for their cuisine, weather be damned.

Bundled-up locals gawked and took photos of me as I pedaled along, weaving through an icy obstacle course.

“You’re crazy!” one man yelled.

Others offered encouragement, like, “You go!”

It took me 15 minutes to get to the customer’s luxury high-rise on West 37th and 10th Street.

“Sorry for the delay, thanks so much for your business,” I said cheerfully, as Price had instructed me to.

“Thanks so much,” the woman said. “Hope it’s not too crazy out there.”

It was, lady.

The bill was $22.87 and she tipped $2.29 — a measly 10 percent.

I was frozen with disbelief.

It shouldn’t be news to anyone that a 20 percent tip is standard for all members of the service industry.

But braving a blizzard is not standard — it’s exceptional.

I know the next time I order food in a snowstorm, I won’t forget to give that hardy deliveryperson nothing less than an avalanche of appreciation — along with a cup of hot cocoa.