They lied. All of the weather information I had was wrong. Or I suppose depending on your perspective; all of them were a little bit right.

I hit the road at 6:50 and was immediately struck by how cold it was. I’d made the choice not to layer up as the gadgets were claiming +3 with no wind – far warmer than the previous few mornings. The air made my eyes water and I very quickly became chilled. I briefly debated turning around but figured working up a good head of steam would warm me up. Then it occurred to me that zipping up the vents that were funneling the crisp morning air into my armpits would likely serve a similar function (it did).

The temps were nice (with my clothes done up), there was no appreciable wind and I had plenty of time and energy so I decided to extend my commute in pursuit of mileage health and fitness. I rode along the canal path down to Glenmore and likely would have kept going if crossing Glenmore wasn’t such a Frogger experience. Technically, to cross Glenmore requires one to ride down to Ogden road and back up again. I prefer the direct route but traffic on Glenmore is nothing like traffic on Centre Street and I suspect they’d just as soon swerve into you if it meant avoiding a puddle as not. It is lucky that I didn’t continue though as I wound up getting to work not a moment too soon.

I was feeling rather smug about my progress until I received the following picture from Adam:

Adam's 126km ride. Pretty sure he cheated.

He’d taken the day off and rather than relaxing and enjoying life, he set out to put big distance between himself and the rest of us chasing the 1000km bragging rights. In one fell swoop, he near doubled his accumulated mileage and made catching him all that much more difficult. So much for my 28 kilometre morning.

I noted earlier that they (the weather gadgets) lied. Oh my how they lied. There was not a 30km/h wind to contend with, there was a 43km/h crosswind waiting for me (which when I’m making the longest climb of the ride is a nice headwind). I consulted the cycling guru Thomas about the prospect of cycling in such winds. “Treat it like a hill and enjoy the sunshine” was his response. This was not the excuse I was looking for. “Or draft – when are you leaving?” Honestly I’m not sure which is more daunting, fighting your way home with the crosswind or trying to stay in Thomas’ draft.

I fired off a message to Thomas when I left but not really expecting a reply, shoved the phone in my pocket and set about to “enjoy the sunshine”. I’m not certain if it’s a purely psychological event however it seems that wind puts a lot of noise into my nervous system and dulls the communication between my brain and legs. I rode home in the middle/top of the middle ring with occasional bursts of speed thanks to the downhill portion of the many hillocks on my route. I managed a snail-like 18km/h.

I was so distracted by my inability to meaningfully pedal, that I exited the canal bridge onto the west path at such an angle as to hook the right side of my front tire below the left side of the paved path. You know what happened next though right? I was going slow as I knew I’d blown the corner and instead of focusing on where I wanted to go, I was busy looking at the pole in the middle of the path I was trying to avoid. I realized I’d hooked my wheel far too late and yet again found myself trapped in my pedals and laying on my side. I exercised my sailor vocabulary and my outside voice on the way down to further entertain the construction workers nearby. I’m developing a love/hate relationship with these stupid, not-very-clipless pedals.

I bounced up quickly and straightened my seat as a rider behind pedalled by. “You alright” he asked without slowing down. “I’m fine” I replied, “just stupid”. Where did that come from? I must have hit my head. He quickly disappeared and I hopped back on the horse and futilely tried to keep him in my sights. As I slogged along I was passed again and quickly dropped despite a momentary effort to catch his wheel. No gas in the tank. All I could think about was the climb standing between me and home.

I won’t go into details but suffice it say that while I never put a foot down, I rode up the steepest portion of the climb in the bottom of the small ring. Funny thing about the small ring, especially the bottom of the small ring – you can’t really stand and pedal – you have to sit because you can’t pedal that short a stroke while standing up. So I spun and spun and spun and spun some more until I made it to the top where I had to stop to hoist the Rescue Bike over the wire fence. I used the opportunity to drink half a litre of water, pant, huff, puff and question my sanity.

I rode home in a horrendous wind out of the desire to try and teach myself something, I’m just not sure what. How to enjoy the bike when you’re not moving fast? How to enjoy the sunshine instead of the scenery flying past? How to suck it up, buckle down and grind it out when all you really want to do is make the call of shame. Yeah. That’s it.

My goal this year is to beat the wind. To unlearn this wind-beats-me-down mindset I picked up last year. Maybe lose a few more pounds in the process.

And to beat my fellow riders.