Fair-Weather Cyclist?

Life in the Bike Lane

Tom Frady

For years, I was one of those dedicated cyclists who would ride through anything. Rain. Wind. Cold. Heat. Locusts. The occasional COVID.

If Mrs. Bike Lane asked, "Are you riding tomorrow?" my answer was always the same: "Of course. Weather is just another variable."

Then I'd spend the evening obsessively checking three weather apps, two radar sites, and a woman on YouTube who predicts storms using the collective behavior of her 13 cats.

But the truth is, I'm really not a fair-weather cyclist—at least not when something more than just a "get some extra miles in" ride is afoot.

I don't mind riding in the rain, as long as I'm dressed for it, it's not too cold, and I can stay safe. I think being soaked to the bone while cold water runs down the back of my shorts builds character.

We cyclists love to brag about suffering. We'll casually mention, "I rode 83 miles in a hailstorm last week." Everyone nods with admiration while secretly thinking, "Why? Were all the cars broken?"

I do, however, have a highly sophisticated decision-making process.

Thumbing through an old cycling magazine years ago, I found a chart (I love charts) suggesting what clothing to wear at different temperatures. While the numbers didn't work for me (I am NOT going to wear cycling tights at 70°!), the concept made sense.

Until it didn't.

I tried matching vests, jackets, arm warmers, leg warmers, warm caps, long-fingered gloves, and wool socks with the predicted temperatures, but I eventually discovered that dressing one layer warmer was far more reliable than trusting the cat lady.

Here in Lincoln, I've started rides in 28° weather and been perfectly comfortable. I've ended rides in 100° temperatures and been...alive.

I don't like wind, though. Nothing ruins a cyclist's confidence quite like opening the front door, hearing the trees whistle, and watching a garbage can tumble up the street.

A 5-mph breeze is refreshing. A 10-mph breeze is manageable.

A 15-mph breeze is called "wind" and fills my heart with dread as I contemplate the 70% of the ride that will somehow head directly into it. (And yes, that's a scientific fact.)

I've had rides where I enjoyed a tailwind for the first two miles and then battled a headwind for the remaining thirty-eight.

Then there's heat.

I've ridden in temperatures approaching the surface of Mercury, which is roughly 800°. Now, a weather report containing the phrase "excessive heat warning" hurts my feelings. The older I get, the more my ideal riding temperature resembles the temperature on my couch.

My dream ride begins and ends at 72°. Not just because it's comfortable, but because I've got a closet full of cool-looking jerseys that I don't want to hide under a jacket.

The funny thing is that most cyclists eventually become fair-weather cyclists, whether they admit it or not. I've ridden in wind, smoke, rain, even snow—and I still might tomorrow. But somewhere between "senior" and "elderly," wisdom begins replacing stubbornness.

You realize riding is supposed to be enjoyable.

There is no trophy for enduring miserable conditions. No one hands out medals for voluntarily becoming hypothermic.

Well, maybe someone does, but they're probably the same people who think climbing Baxter Grade is fun, and I hate them.

As I've grown older, I've become less interested in proving how tough I am and more interested in simply enjoying the ride.

Give me a sunny morning, a quiet road, a good tailwind, and a stop for a fresh donut, and I'm a happy cyclist.

Call me soft if you want, but I've earned it.

I'll be the one sitting comfortably on the café patio, brushing donut crumbs from my favorite jersey, watching dark storm clouds roll across the horizon, and congratulating myself on making yet another excellent decision.

After all, experience teaches many lessons.

One of them is that there's a very fine line between dedication and stupidity.