The joys of winter cycling
In our guest blog this month, Mike White of Boneshaker Magazine reflects on the particular pleasures of winter cycling...
These are dragon mornings. Stepping outside, the cold billows breath into great clouds. The grass is silvery white. At the eastern horizon, buildings are black silhouettes against the blazing dawn. Icy puddles crunch beneath my tyres. Riding to work is always a treat, even – no, especially – in January.
No, I’m not a masochist. Not a hardcore, kitted-out-to-the-nines Lycra nut. I ride for fun. What kind of person still gets their bike out and rides to work in January? What makes them different from the fair-weather cyclist? A sense of adventure perhaps, a belief that lives are enriched by a bit of derring-do. Though when you get out and try it, you soon discover there’s nothing to be scared of. Riding out in the depths of winter is not greatly different to any other season. Sure, it’s cold. But cycling warms you up. Give it some gusto when you first set out, and by the time you crest the first hill, you’re glowing.
As with most outdoor pursuits, the right clothing can make all the difference. A jacket that keeps out wind and rain is a must. If the heavens open (as they so often do), then watching the raindrops bead and roll down impervious sleeves is satisfying in itself. Decent mudguards are worth every penny. As pedestrians tiptoe round puddles, you can plough straight through them (the puddles, that is). Wear layers, windproof gloves, a couple of pairs of suitable socks – merino’s a popular choice – and make sure you’re nice and warm to begin with. Gloves and socks on a radiator by the door, hot drink before you set out.
Beyond that, there’s not much you can do – except enjoy it. One of cycling’s many charms is that it allows full, tingling contact with the elements, a physical involvement in the changing seasons, with all their sounds, colours and smells. The susurration of wind through trees, the heady scent of wood smoke. Riding brings the world to life – immerses you in it, rather than sealing you off from it as cars do.
If you’re lucky enough to live in the countryside, heading out in winter often makes you feel like the only person on the planet. Even in the city, there are fewer fellow cyclists on the road. But when you do pass someone, the camaraderie is immediate. The more extreme the weather, the better. Side by side, desperately pedaling into a sleet-swirling headwind, a single glance is enough to set you both smiling.
Winter’s shortened days make it much easier to catch the sunrise and sunset. To watch the world waking up, to see the streetlights flickering off as you ride out in the morning, then stutter back on again on the way home. To chance upon a fox in the twilight.
Of course, it’s not all invigorating magic. Cycling on icy roads can be hair-raising. Falling off is no fun. Knobbly tyres help, as does taking corners wide and slow. Wherever you can, avoid sudden changes of direction, leaning into corners, sharp braking. If in doubt, get off and walk – you’re actually more stable like this than mere pedestrians, as the bike acts as a handy balancing aid.
It’s only by experiencing the cold and wet that we truly appreciate being warm and dry. Coffee and cake in a cosy café, stepping back into the warmth of your hallway, sliding into a hot bath – these things are never better than after a wintry blast in the saddle.
Some people would rather keep their a-to-b adventure-free. But it’s about more than that. It’s about embracing the shifting seasons in all their variety. It’s about the first tyre tracks in virgin snow, the fading light of the low winter sun, the long shadows trailing you home. It’s about feeling alive.
Mike White is a freelance writer and joint editor of Boneshaker Magazine, a quarterly celebration of the good that bicycles can bring to people’s lives.
