My wife chirps a “be safe” and walks out the door, taking the dog for a walk. I am just beginning to get ready for my bike ride.
40 minutes later, she arrives back at the house just as I am putting one leg over the bike. “Your still here!”, comes the surprised shout. I knew this was going to happen – especially in winter. Maybe it is the cold days that fog the brain and make limbs slower; maybe it is the extra layers that have to be pulled on to prevent freezing – but it seems to take ages for me to get out the door. The Winter Tights don’t help, not one for tight-wearing at the best of times – there is nothing for it but to pull on these constricting loops of black Lycra. However, the extra thick material is like toast and cannot be avoided.
Then comes all the extra paraphernalia of winter riding. An extra inner layer, the gloves, the skull cap, two pairs of socks and must not forget the overshoes (where you discover much too late that you have put the left overshoe on the right foot). Bumbling around in all these extra layers makes one feel slow and lethargic.
The little cul-de-sac where we live is cold and quiet – no one seems to be stirring. My breath fogs in the cold air and I cannot wait to get moving, just to stay warm. The wheels make that swishing sound on damp tarmac as I turn the first rotation of pedals and clip in. Ten minutes later and I am wishing that I had worn a scarf or buff as my face is freezing.
It is not long before I encounter some other sole out on the opposite side of the road and we nod or wave as we pass. Probably in silent contemplation of knowing that we are not alone in our craziness. As a car driver, I used to be jealous of those motorbike riders who nodded to each other – like a brotherhood or some coming together of deed and thought. Now the same thing happens to me out on the bicycle. It should be mandatory.
On the way home, I am passed by some skinny snake who doesn’t even look like he is trying. All I see, is the flash of some cycling club jersey, a quick hello and he is off the front. The jersey looks thinner than gauze and his only deference to winter is a pair of 3/4 leggings. Could I see overshoes? Not sure, he is already 100m in front. I give a little chase since the road is descending and the truck driver I hear behind me, must think that we are crazy. I hit 50 Km/h and then back off – my lightly clad nemesis dissipates into the gloom ahead.
Why do I put myself though these unfeasibly cold mornings? Risking life and limb amongst the unforgiving traffic. Freezing my ass off as a biting wind shears my face. The 40 minute preparation time, the stripping of layers in a tepid hallway. The hunger pangs – because breakfast was a quick bowl of cereal. The cold feet despite my best attempts at layering. Numb fingers on the drops. Water droplets forming an annoying layer on the cycling specs.
I laugh as I remember. Your a bike rider!
Living on the North Ayrshire coast of Scotland, you would think that cycling life might be relatively flat. However, the land mass in these parts sweeps steeply down to the sea. In effect, this means that whilst the A78 main coastal road hugs the coastline, any move inland will likely result in some sort of climbing.
Apparently, there was a near tragic helmet-less incident last week when German pro-cyclist Matthias Kessler swerved to miss a cat (of all things) and crashed head-first into a wall. This happened during a training run in Majorca. I suspect that when he does where a helmet – it will not be a Catlike…
As a relative newcomer to the world of “serious” training, it seems pretty relevant for me to find a training regime that suits someone with modest ability and loads of time constraints. Of these, there are many: pressures of work, balancing home life with cycling excursions, northern hemisphere weather patterns, darkness throughout the winter months and many other little things that pick away at the threads of bike training. So much so, that the whole “new training structure” that we promised ourselves in January can unravel pretty quickly.





