Commuting and Feeling Alive

I overdressed for my first commute, but man it felt good to go for a long ride! The morning started at 35F and must have reached 40F after my hour's ride. What I noticed mostly, were the little things about my bike that I should have tended to last fall before winter storage, but now needed attention: a bar end that slipped, which I stopped to tighten, a dry chain, easily remedied, and lack of mirror, something I screwed back on the handlebar when I arrived home later that day.

I didn't know what to expect when I got to the dirt road at the end of my ride. It was wet, but firm, and a half mile later I negotiated two narrow tracks. The last forty feet was slushy snow covered road. Too difficult to ride, I hopped off the bike, walked and pushed the Trek into my employer's garage.

Like last year, I can't help but take a photo of my bike next to the shovels before opening
 the garage. It might be Spring, but shovels should always remain handy.

I was very surprised that 53F - high for the day - didn't turn the road into a quagmire. It remained firm. However, the culvert was getting a workout; snowmelt formed a gushing river, strained and forming waves at the confluence of driveway and main dirt road. 

I peeked into sap buckets (my employer taps 20 of their maple trees) but was met with disappointment. In spite of warm weather the ground is still frozen, too cold to thaw maple tree roots. I pass two sugar shacks on my ride, neither of which were boiling sap. I look for steam rising from ubiquitous steam vents, and if the wind is just right, I'm treated to the heady smell of maple as I pedal by. It's a few days too early.

Ah, it feels so good to ride to work.

A Trial Run

Narrow Dorset Street. Road edges are pretty clear.

It seems contradictory to practice riding to work, but my commute distance is long - 11 miles each way. Throw in a couple of good sized hills and a mile long dirt road at the end, which could be frozen at best or a muddy slog at worst, then folks may understand why it takes the right conditions for me to start off in Spring.

South Burlington is dramatically thinning tree lines. I wasn't sure why
 because power lines lined opposite side of street.

Riding around town is easy. Bringing home a sackful of groceries, no problem. However, I must gain some fitness. I acclimatize to longer bike seat time, preview crater-sized potholes on road's edge, and get a feel for what clothing I should wear because snowy fields cast a frigid dampness. I take all of this into account on my trial run. I rode partially to work, looping back towards the waterfront for my lake view fix.

South Burlington Bike Path, fortunately not on my commuting route

Lakeside bike path bridge. I ended up walking the snow packed sections.
Also not on my normal commuting route.

If all goes well, I'm aiming for riding to work this week. As in past years, I start out on the Trek (easiest on my body) and later on switch to the Miyata (faster tires).

If you don't commute in winter, what is your approach to getting ready for Spring?

Dreaming of Spring

Photo credit: Local Motion's Facebook page

I stumbled on these photos of last year's Cycle the City event. That's me in pink fleece top, grinning from ear to ear as I ride beside my husband (in blue).

Photo credit: Local Motion's Facebook page

With an approaching storm, forecasting 2-6" of heavy snow in our region, I'm dreaming of warm, sunny days to come.

What is the Heroic Era?

A lady is about to cross the street  in the 1928 Tour de France when the peloton comes
streaming through. Photo credit: The Guardian Photograph: Collection Laget

The more I read about the Heroic Era the more I like what what the Tour de France used to stand for: strength and perseverance. Resourcefulness was everything. You powered your own single speed machine, fixed it as best as you could, fed and clothed yourself, and struggled onward pedaling over mountain passes caked in mud or snow. Grit, determination, and self sufficiency were characteristics that earned respect.

That was when the race consisted of epic journeys, like in 1920 when Honore Barthelemy lost his eyesight after a crash where his eye was struck by a flint. He still finished the race. And went onto compete in more Tour de France events with a glass eye he removed when dust became a problem. Eugene Christophe broke his fork in 1913. Since outside assistance was forbidden, he rebuilt the forks, starting with raw tubing. At one point Christophe asked a local boy to operate the bellows, because his own hands were occupied with a hammer. Later he completed the race, but was docked two minutes because he had accepted help.

1920 Tour de France, 5000 km. I like that early routes circumnavigated France. 
Photo credit: Wikipedia

The early tour days remind me of how I view bike touring. You are pretty much on your own—granted not as much as early 1900s—but ingenuity and struggling up mountain passes relies on attention, wit, and pedaling for the long haul. There is immense satisfaction in unassisted accomplishment—much like what I imagine the heroic riders felt.  After the late 1920s, rules relaxed and derailleurs aided climbing and, sadly, performance drugs entered the scene. And by then, also tragically, several riders were lost to WWI. By the 1950s riders were sponsored and supported, completely changing the face of the Tour de France.

1913 Photo credit: Cyclopunk

Maybe that's why I appreciate the old stories and photographs so much. It was a different era, certainly heroic. And long before the theatrics of glamour girls kissing winners, before mandatory helmets or clipless pedals. Fortunately, one thing still remains the same, then and now: bicycling fans support the greatest race on earth.

Slippery Conditions

Last week I anxiously drove through very slippery conditions. When I arrived at my workplace I was shaking, pacing, talking with my employer, realizing that with my lack of driving skills in poor weather (and without a desire to improve) I was relieved I was standing in their home, holding my cup of tea.

Earlier, I'd passed the rider in the above photo, a guy who regularly commutes in single digit weather. When he walks his bicycle, I know roads are in terrible shape, which was precisely when my anxiety took a turn for the worse.

As conditions waffle between sunny and biting cold, and blustery precipitation, March really does resemble a ferocious feline.

I maneuvered—slipping and sliding can't be called driving—the mile long driveway today after I left work. The dirt road is still 85% ice and snow covered, yet temperatures had risen to a mild 39F. My thought process starts with "maybe next week", referring to possibly cycling the 11 miles. If more dirt reveals itself, even a yard or two a day, Spring biking can't be far behind.