A well used ceramic space heater sat humming at my feet as I sat sipping my third cup of coffee and staring blankly into my computer monitor. I had long given up on it producing anything worth while and now aimlessly clicked through dead-end after dead-end on Monster.com, hyperbolic football gossip on The Daily Mail and finally full circle back to weather.com where I had started my morning off three hours earlier. I was pleased to see that it was warming up, however I was disappointed to see that all that meant was that it was now 4˚ and not -4˚. Thoughts of climbing on the trainer in my basement now entered my head as I took a big sip of my now ice-cold coffee. Fuck.
A few minutes later I stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter watching my coffee cup take a thirty-second spin in the microwave. Jake (the dog) waddled into the kitchen and sniffed and snorted around my smelly slippers. I took that as a cue to end my inner monologue and share my thoughts aloud with him. I explained to him how cold it was outside and how I in NO way wanted to leave the house, let alone ride my bike in four degree temperatures. His vapid wrinkled face indicated to me that he thought I was being a bit of a pansy… that I have hundreds of dollars worth of cold weather gear to help keep me warm and a new to me fat bike designed for riding in the snowy conditions I would face out on my local dirt roads. I didn’t disagree with him but felt the need to point out that it wasn’t so much the cold or the snow that caused me concern, but the long stretches of solid ice that I would have to negotiate. Unfazed, Jake sauntered over to his water bowl, took a long drink, and walked out of the room, pausing only to let out a loud belch, water dripping from his sagging jowls the entire way. I took this as further disappointment in me and set about readying my riding gear.
Once on the road, a few things were made clear: 4˚ is indeed cold, three cups of coffee before a winter ride is a bit too many (unless you REALLY want to stop every five miles to dig your bashful shrunken frozen lingam out from under 3 layers of cold weather bibs and tights to piss), and the roads were icy…. of course they were also a wintry smorgasbord of dry pavement, snow pack, soft snow, rutted frozen slush, ash, sand, salt and drifts.
None of the rides I’ve done since purchasing the Pugsley have been all that long– the longest topping out at just under two hours–and that’s fine by me. I am in winter survival mode; I alternate between riding the trainer, riding on the snow-covered dirt roads, going to the gym, getting fatter and sitting on the couch watching football and drinking beer (much to Wifey’s dismay).
With nearly an hour and a half in, I was now heading home into a cold breeze from the south. My fingers and toes were getting colder by the minute and I started to curse myself out loud for letting a dog shame me into a cold weather ride, and for bitching about the rainy 60 degree temperatures I experienced in Florida last weekend.
As the Pugsley lurched and whirled along the last mile of ice patched pavement back to the xB, I found myself daydreaming about a hot shower, lunch and a fourth cup of coffee. I also wondered what Jake (the dog) was doing while I was out freezing my tits off…
I think I have a good idea. Dumb dog… I love you.
Every ride I do in the cold I return more and more in awe of the racers that compete in ultra events like the Arrowhead 135. Speaking of, check out the 135 race recaps my friend Chris recently wrote. Amazing stuff. I can’t even imagine pushing through such frigid conditions. Hell, I can barely muster riding more than two hours in the cold, let alone more than 24!