Ride # 6: The Yin and Yang of It

January 26, 2014, 23 Degrees F

If you looked out the window or walked to the end of the sidewalk and looked at our street (ice covered, snowy, treacherous), and if you based your assessment of over all road conditions on it alone, you would conclude that attempting to ride today would be silly, even stupid. Luckily for me, I'd gone out earlier and knew better. We'd driven over to Groton to retrieve the year's first CSA meat & poultry allotment (we got a whole frozen turkey! I tried not to read too much into that). On the way to and from, I studied the roads and determined that they were better than passable. They were ride-able.

Last night's snow was a mere dusting, not more than a quarter inch, and because it was so cold (IS so cold), the snow is powdery and on the move. Icy wind gusts blow it all over. This is particularly noticeable when you come to an open stretch in the road, perhaps a stretch between two fields; in those places the snow has drifted across the road and poses a hazard for cars and bikes alike. All of the roads have narrowed somewhat; the shoulder reduced to sand and road debris now, and an icy snow crust edges that. Some roads are narrower than others.

The key, I realized, would be to stick to the least traveled roads, and wait until midday or later to go.

So that's what I did. Though not without a bravura display of yipping. Should I really try to ride in this cold? What if I go and it sucks and I have to slink home after 15 minutes? Should I stay home, swaddle myself in warm, loose-hanging clothing, and work on the novel? Eat an early lunch and an early dinner? Or should I actually gear up and give it a go? Maybe tool around the neighborhood a little just to test things out?

By 12:30, I couldn't stand it. I had to ride so I layered up and got on with it. Temperature at departure? 23.6 F (-4.6 C).

But the sun was out. The sky was bright blue. Remnant snow on the slate roof melted and dripped from the eaves. The sun enveloped the entire landscape in shine and brio. And as soon as I turned off my street and onto rt. 13, I KNEW I had made the right decision. The road was mostly dry. Actually, it was parched white with salt, and there was a lot of sand and I could tell there would be wet spots but for the most part it was, as I'd hoped, completely okay.

I crossed rt.2 and powered my way up the hill, under the train tracks, through the two lights, and out the other side, into North Lemonstar and on to Lunenburg. Little traveled back roads. No traffic. Me and the blue sky, my shadow proceeding me, leading me. The sun. Huge old bare oaks etched black against against white. Crow caw. An alarm of blue jays from a copse of hardwoods. Robins. The robins must be adapting to the changing climate. Growing up, we began looking for the first robins to return from the south in late March; we took it as a sign of spring's arrival when the first robins were spotted. Now? I've seen them in bunches these last three rides.

Shad at the Midpoint of Ride # 6
Shirley Center, Town Hall

When I reached Shirley Center, about 50 minutes in, I pulled over and called ND to let her know that I'd be out longer than I'd initially said. When I'd set out, I'd told her I'd be gone maybe an hour (even then, I was doubting the conditions and my staying power). It was going to be longer than that. At the moment I snapped the above pic, I figured I would ride another hour, maybe more. Then I happened to look in the other direction, to the west where the sun was and the direction in which I'd be riding home. And I noticed that the sun was slowly being consumed by the onset of a massive gun metal gray cloud bank.

The Dimming in the West

It was the yin yang moment. The entire ride up until this moment had been sun-blessed, blue skied. As soon as I turned and looked toward the west, the temperament of the ride morphed from light and warm to ominous and chilled. As soon as I was underway, I noticed the cold coming on. The sun had provided the warmth of optimism. The gauzy Shroud of Grim tested one's mettle. I passed the test. I rode strong, dauntless, straight into the head wind that came driving from the west.

When I got home, the temperature was 20 degrees. And I was still warm enough, today's layers were well chosen and served me well. Even my hands were warm. I'd layered with elan and sagacity.

Ride Stats: 21.9 miles (35 k), 12.6 mph, about an hour and forty minutes in the saddle. 147.6 lbs this morning.