Category Archives: Cycling

Never say Never

Posted on by

The problem with saying never is you’ve immediately made a commitment.  Some, like saying I’ll never smash my fingers with a hammer for entertainment are pretty easy to keep admittedly, but saying something as foolish as I’m never riding in the rain…again…until I get rain gear are arbitrarily limiting, and who likes arbitrary limits?

I started off last year avoiding the bike if it even looked like it might rain.  This wasn’t so much a fear of rain as an excuse to take the day off.  The introduction of our Gentlemen’s Wager (first to 1000km) rewarded riding in the rain, doubly so when my competition wouldn’t.  While I wouldn’t say I embrace riding in the rain, I wasn’t letting it stop me.

Tuesday afternoon, I rode home in a rain that had me sloshing about within the first two kilometers.  It was a miserable ride with miserable rain and a miserable headwind.  I did not enjoy the ride as one might infer and I vowed no more riding in the rain until I was properly outfitted.  That arbitrarily limiting statement stood three days before it became a challenge.  A challenge to which I quickly succumbed.

Ordinarily one might think of failing a challenge to be failure.  In this scenario I think failing to live up to the statement I’m not riding in the rain is in fact the preferred course of action.  I am, after all, not made of a water-soluble exterior (at least not while I’m still moving and breathing), and the gear that I have keeps me reasonably warm.  Or so I thought.

It started innocently enough.  A check of the forecast this morning showed a light rain turning to snow as the day wore on.  The radar map showed a large green (IE rain) mass heading from the west but the timing showed the worst of it arriving about the time I was due back.  I questioned my wisdom as I geared up, stuffing my pockets with enough road fuel for a 3-hour trip, strapping on my sort-of water proof Gore-Tex pants and my not-water-proof riding jacket but forged ahead with my ride.

The relative lack of puddles and the dry spots around parked vehicles suggested a lack of significant precipitation.  The wavering trees confirmed the presence of the 33km/h NW wind.  Did I forget to mention that bit?  Oh – yes, in addition to the precipitation, there was a wee wind.

The geographical location of home base presents some logistical issues when faced with a north westerly wind.  We are higher than the primary north/south pathway system, which lies to the east.  We go down to the path and up to home.  Heading south on the path is, with a handful of exceptions fairly flat – easy pedaling – and as such, my desired direction.  However, while it would be a fast and easy trip south, it would mean the entire return journey faced into the aforementioned wind.  Not appealing.

Head west or north from home base and you’re climbing.  It’s not huge elevation nor is it killer-steep.  It’s a long, steady slog up the hills and today, into the wind.  I opted to tackle the hills and the wind first, riding north and west as far as I could before heading home both downhill and with a tailwind.  Excellent plan.

I don’t often ride in the northwest as I have no destination there.  This means I’m not overly familiar with the path system or even the road network.  I can’t keep track of which trail or boulevard is going which way.  While the City of Calgary has done a commendable job signing the bike routes on the roads, there are some gaps and I could not for the life of me figure out how to get over – or if I wanted to – Beddington Trail while staying on the path.  It didn’t help that with the overcast skies and the lack of streets or avenues (so one might be able to figure out what direction he was pedaling), I had no idea what direction the road  was going.  I knew I wanted to go north, but I no longer knew where North was.  I headed down dead-ended bike paths, back-tracked up hills and generally confused myself a great deal.

I could have used my gadget to look at a map, find my position on it and then reference the fantastic City of Calgary Pathway and Bikeways app to figure out how to get where I wanted to go.  I didn’t do that.  I didn’t do that because that’s not what I do, apparently.

The precipitation was no longer a drizzle.  It was a full-on rain but I’d thwarted it with careful seam preparation and thick winters sock over my double-layer winter running socks, a gift from Best Wife.  While I was pretty sure parts of me were getting wet, I was still warm save for my face so I ploughed on trying to find a way over to Nose Creek park from the north side of whatever that road it s that runs east-west (that’d be Beddington Trail for future reference).  I continued to twist and turn until I crossed a pedestrian bridge over a multi-lane road (success!) and began heading east.

The quick blasts downhill stung my face with rain turning to something more solid and there was standing water on the flat sections now.  Slogging along up a long hill, I caught sight of another Porsche parked in someone’s driveway and thought to myself – what a strange coincidence, two convertible Porsches back into their…wait a minute… nooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!  Ah damn!  I was not going east.  I had not crossed the right road.  I was going in circles.

I pulled under the cover of the Husky gas pumps and ate a Honey Stinger waffle while I pondered my next move.  I had no idea where I was, how I got there or where I should be going.  I’d been riding for an hour and was no longer warm and dry, my feet squishing around in wet socks.  I picked a road at random and followed it until it turned into something I recognized and then followed that.  Slowly I picked my way back to Centre Street and Beddington something-or-other where I knew I’d find my path north.

Slowly I ground up the hill into the driving rain and headwind, knowing that some downhill salvation was waiting on the other side.  I was cold, wet and fully insane in my determination to get where I was going.  I pedaled down the hill to the underpass which would feed me into Nose Creek Park but stopped short.  Do I really want to do this?  I could turn around right now, slog it up this hill and then coast downhill almost all the way home.  Home, where it’s warm and dry and I can climb into a hot shower.

That’s the thing with insanity.  It’s insane.  I pedaled north, fighting with my clipless pedal that was refusing to clip (making it remarkably slippery as wet metal on metal tends to be).  I started talking to my pedal out loud which should have been a sign.  Finally clipped in, I rode into the deserted park and headed east.  The rain left large puddles on the trail and the drivetrain sprayed water up the back of my right leg until it finally found a way past the Gore-Tex, dripping it’s icy self down the back of my formerly dry calf.  I did not smile.

I chose the easy route out of the park, anxious to head for home, having accomplished my crazy, pointless mission.  The north wind was pushing me furiously and I found myself in the top of the big ring, making my first real speed of the day.  I checked my mileage and the time, thought about the consequences of going past my turn and decided to push for the river.  My gloves were soaked through, frozen fingers and frozen toes a constant distraction.  I rode on averaging 30km/h over the next 10km all the while the return trip looming in my mind.

I stopped under the Memorial Drive overpass, common sense finally trumping the enjoyment of speed.  I snarfed down a Clif bar with shockingly numb hands, making a futile attempt to hide from the wind behind a bridge pillar.  I could no longer ignore the pain coming from my wet toes and my fingers were all but non-functional they were so cold.  The rain had long turned to a heavy wet snow making a less-than-stellar ride that much more arduous.  I stuffed the empty wrapper in my jersey pocket and turned around for home.

The ride home was exactly as you might think.  A freezing, driving slush/rain, a fierce headwind and a Rescue Bike that was beginning to malfunction.  I couldn’t determine whether it was my inability to feel my fingers that was hampering the bike, or if it was the bike rebelling against the conditions.  I stared at a spot a few feet in front of the tire, shifted into the middle of the middle ring and tried not to think about my frozen appendages.

Half way up the bus trap hill, I determined that in addition to my own lack of digit-functionality, the Rescue Bike was indeed sick.  I tried to shift into the granny ring so I could sit and pedal slowly up the hill but it wouldn’t shift.  This is most distressing when you have already made the mental leap to a lower gear and it is the first time in memory I debated getting off and pushing rather than risk falling over with my feet frozen to their pedals.

I made it to the top of the hill and, knowing the rest of the climb that was waiting for me, I persuaded the chain onto the granny ring and climbed the last kilometer home.  I managed to get the Rescue Bike up onto it’s perch before making a bee-line for a hot shower.  My fingers howled in protest but my feet made no complaint at all, at first.  Without warning, my toes started signalling that they’d been run over by a truck, smashed with a hammer and stubbed against a table at running speed.  The pain was enormous.  I was paying the price for ignoring them when they signaled their increasing displeasure and finally their resignation during the ride.  Despite growing up and spending my I don’t need a toque just because it’s -30C years in a place that has an average winter temperature of -30 degrees, I don’t believe my toes have ever been that cold – they’ve certainly never shared their anger with such clarity before.  It was an excruciating 5 or 6 minutes before they started to calm down.

It’s now 12 hours since I embarked on my frozen adventure and I’ve recovered nicely.  My muddy clothes have all been washed and hang-drying in anticipation of another outing.  If it wasn’t for scheduling conflicts, I would be gearing up for a 2nd round as we speak.  Clearly I haven’t learned anything.

Do you see what happens when you say never?  It’s makes you crazy.

Yeah Baby

Posted on by

I missed riding on Wednesday, caving in to my desire to not arrive at worked soaked.  As it turns out, Wednesday was a fairly safe day for riding, certainly nicer than some recent days and I could likely have ridden without any worry of getting wet.  But I didn’t.  Instead I watched while I sat motionless in traffic as the rest of the cycling commuters rode past on the pathways. I vowed I would ride today.

There was a 13km/h headwind this morning, overcast skies and I was greeted with a crisp 3 degrees, feels like 0 when I stepped outside.  I didn’t want to ride.  I didn’t feel the anticipation.  I eyed my car.  Sighing, I threw my helmet on and dragged the Rescue Bike off it’s perch in the garage and out into the chilly morning.

My legs started to complain immediately, my eyes watered from the cold and my mind wandered around aimlessly, not unlike my front wheel.  I tooled along at a reasonable (for me) speed until I came to my favourite part of the morning start – the bus trap hill.  The traffic at the bottom of the hill is generally non-existent to sporadic at this time of the morning, so taking advantage of the bus-only lane, I get to shoot downhill at 50km/h and if all goes to plan and there’s no traffic, I can carry a good deal of that speed with me for the next block.  Alas, while the traffic complied the cold headwind and recalcitrant legs quickly pushed my speed back down to normal.

I spotted the Lopsided Rider ahead, perhaps 3/4 of a kilometer in front of me.  I commanded my lungs and legs into wolf mode and began the chase.  This lasted all of 100 meters before my legs decided otherwise and I found myself not lollygagging but not exactly chasing either.  As was last time, I continued to see him but had to watch his lead grow steadily until our paths diverged at the river.  I was not having a good time.  I was not enjoying the sun-less sky or the oppressive, grey clouds hanging overhead.  Most of all I was not enjoying my ride.

I fought my way through Max Bell Hell, all but stopping to wait for a jogger in front of me before the path opened up for passing.  This meant losing the head of steam coming off the overpass and having to slog it uphill again.  I knew I was heading straight to work.  No detours, no extra mileage this morning.  Just…get me inside and off this thing.  Besides, I can’t feel my thumbs.  Again.

I pushed forward for lack of any options and slowly made my way along 26th street.  Half way through the stretch, something happened.  My legs finally gave up complaining, my lungs agreed to come on-board and the fast, twisty, down-hill drop to the canal presented itself.  I veered off the route to work and blasted down the hill with a giant grin, sweeping right then left then hard on the brakes to make the walking-speed entrance onto the canal path.

I looked at the time – not enough to get to Glenmore and back before work.  I pushed on, calculating where to turn around or make my exit to head back.  I lost my zoom.  The path, broken up by aggressive tree roots pounded away at us (the rescue bike and I), threatening to turn the ride back into a slog.  I pushed forward, wondering aloud why I was so slow this morning.

I kept slogging on, trying to find the right gear, the right position and trying to keep my hands from going numb.  I kept calculating the time (and hence distance) available and made the decision to ride it hard all the way to Glenmore.  I pushed on trying to keep my speed above 23km/h in the headwind.  Instead of stopping for a drink at the finish, I spun around and began the charge back up, anxious not to show up late.  With the wind at my back (ish), I quickly found a rhythm and some speed, settling in at a grin-inducing 30km/h.  I pushed hard, feeling the path traveling under us and the wind all but gone like the feeling in my thumbs.

I reached the entrance and turned to make the climb back up to 26th, dropping several gears and settling in at less than half the speed I’d just been doing.  In truth, I’m pleased with my progress on this particular hill.  It’s long enough that I can’t sprint up and there’s little relief – no flat spots.  That I can climb it without needing to stand and without falling over leaves me pleased if not a bit burnt by the time I get to the top.

So you can imagine my surprise and panic when, moments from the top, Chris suddenly appeared on my left, making better time up the hill and clearly passing me.  This was not cool.  I had to regain some capacity as he was about to outrun me.  He passed me, then turned onto the sidewalk, avoiding the morning traffic on 26th.  I didn’t.  I like this stretch.  Short of the downhill blasts, this is far and away my favourite stretch of the commute-route.

I rounded the corner onto the road and started pushing.  Click-mash-mash-mash-click, I started to build some speed.  From off to my right came a series of closely-spaced clicks as Chris did the same, shifting up quickly as he too built up speed.  I put my head down and willed all systems into panic mode.  Click into the big ring, click into the 7th ring.  I concentrated on pedaling the entire stroke – push, pull, lift, making squares rather than circles but keeping the cadence and the speed up.  I lost sight of Chris and pushed hard to make the intersection but lost to a red light.

With Chris coming up on the left sidewalk now, I made my way over to the corner to meet up.  He was not exhibiting the state of cardio distress I was feeling.  The light turned green and we picked our way across the road and began sprinting up the sidewalk, cutting through a parking lot before hitting the final 200 meters.  It was too late – I’d spent it all on the ride and trying to keep up with Chris.  I coasted into the parking lot.

That was just what the doctor ordered.  It was exactly what I’ve been needing.  A solid competition, a big, sustained effort.  That shook the cobwebs out of places I didn’t realize where there – I’d forgotten all about them in my quest for more mileage.  Thanks Chris!

Okay Okay!

Posted on by

Mother nature seems to be taking great pleasure in testing my determination to ride.  Or, she is reacting to my indifference to most of what she’s dished out this spring.  Granted, I didn’t ride home last Friday evening.

Everyone snickered when I showed up wet and tired last Friday morning – I thought they were laughing at my “getting caught” in the rain which of course I hadn’t been, I’d set out in the rain.  But no, they were amused that I’d chosen to ride despite the afternoon forecast of 60km winds (rather specifically, 60km/h headwinds).  They were right.  I hadn’t seen that.  After a full day of debate and watching the flags strain against their hoist, I called in the troops and caught a ride home.  As one might expect, I have a mixed feelings about not riding – regret for things not done.

This morning was cold and damp with clear evidence of a recent rain.  I opted for the Gore-Tex pants (that are not form-fitting) over the stretchy pants to protect me from the inevitable puddles and mud, my MEC heavy base layer and the cold weather riding shirt (which has been a staple this spring).  Within 5 minutes of setting off, I knew I’d over-dressed.  I was already feeling hot and sweaty and the area covered by my pack was absolutely overheating.  A smarter man might have done something about it – I unzipped my jacket vents and collar a little but that did little to relieve the heat.  I cycled on listening to the steady swit-swit-swit-swit-swit-swit of my puffy pant-legs.

The return trip was characterized by the presence not of a drizzle, nor of a light rain, but by a genuine spring rain that has the canal flowing over the path in places.  I learned that my Gore-Tex pants are in fact not water-proof, that the water repellency of my cycling jacket was no more and that no amount of riding in traffic in the rain is a pleasant event.  Within the first kilometer my feet were both sloshing around in my fancy shoes, there was a steady stream of water coming down the back of my right leg and the headwind was driving the rain into everything else.

By the time I arrived at home, I’d got the hint – I am not riding in this weather tomorrow.  I’ll probably feel differently about it after the fact but unless and until I have some better cycling rain gear, I’m going to forego the full rain rides.  On the upside, I didn’t have a lot of competition for the paths – they were pretty vacant with only a couple of miserable faces plodding along.

The one thing that wasn’t wet and cold was my head.  This is thanks entirely to the wisdom and foresight of my mother-in-law (who posts comments that are entirely too kind and make me feel all warm and fuzzy).  Marion gave me a rain cap for my helmet this Christmas.  At first I didn’t think I’d use it as I’d found rain a nice excuse not to ride.  Then I decided it wouldn’t fit my mountain-bike styled helmet with it’s big beak protruding out the front.  Then I actually tried it while riding in last Thursday’s light rain and found it remarkably effective.  This afternoon it proved to be worth much more than it’s weight in gold as I’m certain I’d have been utterly miserable (as opposed to simply beaten up).  This piece is a permanent part of the kit.

I broke the 500km mark on this morning’s commute (just) tallying up 501.7km.  This left me in the lead for the 2nd day in a row with Adam close behind.  He broke the 500km mark on his ride home, in the same miserable rain, leaving Alberto to ponder how to make up a 130km deficit without riding in the rain.  You can’t (unless one guy goes down with a bum knee and the other gets shipped out of town and can’t ride).  Enjoy the rain :-D