Winter cometh

35 degrees and raining.

I actually love this time of year and this kind of commute. Because of the thrill of persevering despite the elements, and because of the smugness that comes from being a member of the exclusive All-Weather Cyclists Club.

I love the Man vs. Nature element of it. I enjoy that I now have to start watching the weather ahead of time so I can plan for both my morning and my evening commute. That I need to at times be ready for varying amounts of rain and snow, which sometimes means having to stop mid-commute to remove or add layers.

Being ill prepared or under-dressed is less dangerous now that my commute is 10 miles round-trip than it was back when it was about 20 miles, but it can still suck plenty bad.

This is also the time of year when you see fewer cyclists on the road, and the ones you do see are in it for the long run, just like you are. This time of year, when it's freezing and raining, if you see another cyclist you nod or wave, and they smile back. The comradeship is near the surface and it's easy to spot a kindred, nutty soul.

This is when cycling becomes an indoor sport for the fair-weather (possibly smarter) cyclists out there.

Tales from the commute

There were two seriously treacherous stretches on the ride home tonight!

One was heading west on 33rd, and the other was heading west through City Park. Both bits were buried in icy, mushy slosh. I was sliding and skidding and wobbling and teetering and tottering.

Didn't fall though.

I had two encounters in City Park. One was an older fella who saw me coming, grinned, and waved. I smiled and said, "Hi!" and he said, in a sing-song voice that was a dead ringer for Goofy, "Hi, Brian!"

The other encounter was a couple walking towards me. The lady said as I passed, with concern in her voice, "Skinny tires!"

The Pete Seeger lookin' fella said, "Brave man!"