A Good Ride

In the summer, pretty much every commute is a good ride.  The air is warm.  You can speed along without having to look out for patches of ice and snow.  It's never dark out.  You smile a lot. 

In the winter, however, you can go days on end without a good ride.  It's cold, dark, and lonely, and you often wonder if it's all worth it.  Oh, I know I'm supposed to say that every ride is a "good ride," and I suppose they all are to the extent that you get to breathe fresh air, exercise, save the planet from vehicular destruction and all that.  But a ride that feels good on a soul level - those are few and far between this time of year.

Last night, I had my first good ride home in over a week.  The arctic grip had loosened a bit. The wind had abated, and there was a faintly perceptible lightness to the air.  I don't know what it is about really cold air, but it has a thickness such that you can pedal with all your might and yet you still don't seem to be going anywhere. I haven't been out of my middle chainring since November.  (I'm sure my Neanderthal era mountain bike outfitted with heavy studded tires and full panniers, together weighing a click less than a loaded school bus, doesn't help matters.)  It's been so frustrating lately, hopelessly spinning my wheels through this cold weather, that I've taken to riding out of the saddle a lot more than I do during the summer, just so that I can feel like I'm making some progress.  But last night was different.  I hammered on the pedals and I moved.  My tires skipped across the pavement.  I went fast.  I smiled.

This morning was similarly delightful, and I saw more cyclists out than I've seen since before the snow came.  I know it won't last, but the good rides last night and this morning are tiny glimpses of that ecstatic delight that a winter commuter feels when the spring finally arrives. Then I look at the calender in disbelief that it's not even winter yet!