Relativity
I know, I
know, 30 degrees Fahrenheit doesn’t sound so bad to my readers up north where, at
this moment, it’s something like 20 below. But I moved here, coastal South
Carolina, after many years in Maine, a state not too shabby when it comes to
cold temps, and for a few of those years I was without a car. I’ve lived the
scene ... I've plied the snow on foot, in a rusted-out heatless VW, on bicycle.
. . .
I’ve been in
South Carolina long enough for my blood to have thinned, so that 30˚ feels the
same to me as 20 below feels for my brother in Vermont. I envy my northern readers
many things, but today’s thermometer reading isn’t one of them. I offer sympathy to you, my
cycling brethren all across the northern states, even though you may not respond in kind for a shivering, inauthentic southerner like me.
But no wonder it's cold. It’s New
Year’s Day. Picture-proof: date, day, time, and temp.
Not
to ride on the first day of the year seems to me a sacrilege of sorts.
Because of the recent cold snap, I’ve been itching for a
mind-clearing, leg-stretching spin. Too many days indoors, waiting
for the weather to cooperate, makes Roadysseus a dull boy. Time to alleviate my lethargy, to mitigate my moping! So I saddled up (as it were) and
did just that.
Here, at a boat landing on the Waccamaw River, I stopped for a meditative moment, cutting short my reverie because my toes and fingers had begun to show signs of
incipient frostbite. I had it once in Maine. It's a feeling one doesn’t forget and an experience one doesn't risk repeating.
Now, to return to my original theme: 30 degrees, not too bad on paper, is pretty lousy in itself and even worse when one
factors wind chill into the stat. This morning's freeze was augmented by a northwest blast. To the wind chill produced by that arctic gust one must add what we cyclists often fail to appreciate—that
at 18-20 mph (my average today, except when toiling back home at 15 mph in the teeth of the front) we ourselves create significant wind chill. Although technically I may not have reached North Dakota levels, my toes and fingers couldn't have cared less about such geographical distinctions. Thirty minutes in I’d had enough
—without having had enough. Turning into the driveway, I felt as if I'd just left. True it is that ride satisfaction as measured by miles is also relative to the individual. Distance doesn't necessarily determine satisfaction. Last year alone I enjoyed hundreds of low-mile rides. But when I want a long one, I expect myself to deliver. This morning I didn't. Whether or not I could is irrelevant insofar as I didn't embark on my first ride of the new year with the expectation that it would be so short.
"Short," like "medium" and "long," is a relative term. To a non-cyclist, twenty miles seems unimaginable, even in the fairest weather. To cyclists, it's not much more than a warm-up in any weather. I pedaled about ten today.
. . .
Technical
details: I rode in Levi’s jeans with metal cuff straps (Christmas gift, my
daughter), COSTCO wool socks, Sketcher sneakers, wool briefs, double layer of Ibex
wool long-sleeve shirts (not dedicated bike jerseys), Ibex wool vest, Ibex wool
balaclava, Ibex wool gloves, Nutcase helmet. The bike is a 54 mm Rivendell AHH steel
sweetie on heavy but puncture-proof (so far) 35 mm Continental tires. Check earlier posts for reflections on tire width, the wonders of wool, this bicycle, and local road conditions that have compelled me to choose Continentals over the much plusher Compass tires I prefer.
Unfortunately, Ibex Wool recently closed its doors.
This post's takeaway: the elements of a ride are relative to one’s state of mind, state of body, state of residence.
Despite some grumbling in these paragraphs, it was a good way to start the new year. God willing, I'll log thousands of miles in 2018. I hope you, my fellow cyclists, will too—or as many miles as you'd like to log relative to your physical, emotional, practical, and spiritual needs. As for today, the first in that 365-day tally, what temperatures did you have no choice but to face?
Roadysseus
1 January 2018
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