Summer may not be officially over but it’s not nice out there. Gone are the cool morning rides followed by blazing hot evening trips home. This morning it was 8 degrees with a correspondingly cold wind from the SE, precisely the direction I was headed. Coming home it had warmed considerably to…12. The wind kindly changed to blow from the north keeping the riding-into-the-wind theme going for the trip home.
My rather excellent route contains three kilometres of road with the rest on the bicycle path. Due to the route reconstruction, the detour requires I cross the railroad tracks at the Trans Canada. What are the chances that a train and I are going to be at the crossing at the same time? 100% today. So with the wind gleefully in my face, I detoured off the path and climbed up to the 16th Ave overpass. I didn’t shift soon enough and found myself out of cranking power a couple of meters from the top so hopped off to hike it up. As I wheeled west along 16th, I couldn’t help but notice the last rail car disappear underneath me.
A lesser man might take this as a source of frustration if he were running late (notice a theme here?), into a freezing headwind and finding himself making an extraneous climb for no reason. Know what though? I was preoccupied with something else. My little scramble up the hill carrying the bike was like floating. It had been absolutely without effort, as though the slope wasn’t a slope and the bike carried itself. Well that’s cool. I wondered if it had been a result of the headwind preload I’d been riding into. The upside of climbing over the tracks is coming down the switchbacks on the other side – with the path to myself I rode down as fast as I dared, all my weight on the outside pedal as I leaned hard right then left then right again. A wee reward for a wee climb.
Weather conditions for the ride home were equally miserable if marginally warmer (note to self – get some gloves). I spotted a rabbit as I made the short climb up to Max Bell and not any old rabbit – a rabbit wearing a yellow jersey (Tour de France overall leader’s jersey colour). How could I not chase? As I was climbing out of Max Bell towards the overpass, he was disappearing on the west side. This is perhaps my 2nd favourite section – a long gentle climb with a fast descent that, traffic permitting allows you to carry lots of speed as you cut the path and go up and over the dirt to the next path segment. By the time I made the corner under the train bridge he was less than 10 meters ahead. I reeled him in and passed him before the canal bridge. I don’t care that his yellow jersey was in fact a yellow MEC jacket not unlike my purple one, nor that his fenders were rattling. Or that he had loaded panniers. I bid him a cheery nice day for a ride ‘eh as I passed. He looked absolutely miserable pedaling into the headwind. I’d have smiled if I wasn’t already back in mouth-breather mode chasing down a runner.
This cold weather is playing with my resolve to ride as late and often as I can this winter. The path is not one of those slated to be plowed during the winter which means I’d have to find a road route. This does not fill my heart with anything but abject terror. Calgary drivers are horrendous enough when you’re in another car. On dry pavement. On a sunny day. Maybe I could ride the side roads to the path, shoulder the bike and throw on a set of cross-country skis like some sort of bizarre biathalon/cyclocross mashup. That sounds like something Thomas would do. Whatever – I’m not quitting before Adam does.
Calling for 5 degrees tomorrow morning. Might have to find some pants soon.