Earlier this week I talked about my quixotic quest to reach 3,000 miles on my new CB1100 before winter set in. As a few of my more astute commenters noted, this was an entirely arbitrary and meaningless goal.
Nevertheless, it’s done, and all it took was the willingness to ride to work in nineteen-degree weather.
Over the past month, I’ve gotten pretty comfortable with riding in the forties and thirties, but nineteen is another country, particularly on an unfaired bike like the CB. Most of my body was in some sort of pain within five minutes of my leaving the house. By the time I reached the first exits south of Route 270 on my way to work, my hands were twitching. I alternated putting them directly on the not-so-hot engine. The gloves I was wearing (Joe Rocket Sub-Zeros) didn’t catch on fire, but honestly I’d have been okay with them catching on fire.
Nine miles into my thirteen-mile ride, I saw a grease truck ahead in the right lane. To my eternal shame, I slotted in ten feet behind the thing and drafted it. Given that the grease truck had a massive box attached to the back of it that was shaking and shifting around, it probably was very far from the smartest idea I’ve ever had. Still, I got through those last three miles without having either hand lock up on me, which was my primary concern.
By lunch, it was up to a balmy 28, and I rode to Potbelly with no worries. It was 41 degrees when I left for home. Felt like summer. Everything’s relative.
As part of my belief that I should live in reality, I’ve carefully examined my moronic desire to ride in cold temperatures. I think it goes back to when I was a teenager doing winter road rides with the Franklin Cycle Club. There’s something about freezing your core down to misery then warming back up that feels spiritually uplifting. When I was a kid, riding my Cannondale SR500 fifty miles at the back of a paceline, my second-hand shoe covers letting the snow freeze my toes and my merlot-colored Jones sunglasses attaching themselves to my face with long icy fingers, it was a matter of showing myself I was tough enough to do it. When I was in my early thirties and I’d run in the winter before going to work, it was a way to ensure that I’d be awake and alive the rest of the day.
Now I think these cold rides are just a way to show myself that I haven’t gone completely soft even though I’m in my forties and live pretty comfortably ninety-nine percent of the time. There’s also a second benefit that never really applied before: my left leg feels like a million bucks when it’s frozen to immobility. I have a real spring in my step as I get off the bike. It’s gone by the time I’m in the office but those few minutes are nice to have. Now I can pack up the bikes and the Boxster for the winter, secure in the knowledge that I didn’t retreat before I’d accomplished my silly little goal. It makes me think I can accomplish the other silly goals I have in my life. Maybe you can, as well.
Personally, I’m a fan of arbitrary and meaningless goals… so, bravo!
Much as I hate to say it ; dittos on the ! Bravo ! .
I used to get stuck 100 miles from home in freezing weather on my old Beemer R75/5 , I’d find a convoy of Semi trucks and slot in between the last two ~ about 45° and my face would stop hurting for a while…
As you said , the same reasons .Never forget what happens of you make a mistake now :
Fatherless John .
Maybe even raised by some nutless fool .
-Nate
Cold Weather training is one of the best things you can do for your body with regards to inflammation/pain. Check out the Vice Documentary on Wim Hoff the Iceman who submerges himself in freezing cold water for extended periods of time, pretty wild stuff and may just help your leg feel a little better in the long term.
I wear my snowmobiling/Ski gear (including snowpants) when I ride in temps that low and it’s actually not too uncomfortable but I’ve mostly stopped riding in temps that low. Slightly off topic but your constant yammering about Allen Edmonds convinced me to finally buy a pair. Most I’ve ever spent on footwear… so thanks, I guess.
I was born in the icy Midwest, then moved to a subtropical paradise with my family when I was twelve.
About the time I was twenty, I was (more or less) attending the U of Fla, and felt like riding home, some three hours to the south, one early spring weekend.
The weather forecast was ambivalent about the probability of rain, one of those times that if you shopped around you could find a forecast with whatever percent chance of rain you wanted.
So when it was cloudy where I was living but there was a big band of blue sky to the south, we took off (my live in GF on the back of my Norton). We no more than got about twenty minutes outside of town and the sky opened up. Being young, and a semi-starving college student, I had none of the good rain or cold weather gear an experienced rider would have owned. So we suffered for about forty five minutes, too stubborn to turn back. Then when it stopped raining and the skies cleared, we pulled into a laundromat, changed into dry clothes and dried our wet ones.
Off we went again…right into another spell of rain within another half hour. It has been so long I don’t recall for sure, but I think we changed into dry clothes a second time when it stopped raining again, but waited til we were home to dry off the second wet set of clothes.
Finally got home. Had a nice weekend with the folks…we were getting along fairly well, as I was pulling decent grades and my parents had finally decided an inexpensive big bike and a cheap panel truck was a fairly economical way to get around in a college town, and had stopped railing against my motorcycle purchase.
To my father’s credit, and to my own stupidity, I ignored his advice that a late season cold spell was expected on Sunday, and insisted in sticking around for Sunday dinner, with a plan to ride after dark back to school Sunday night.
The big had been so dirty from the rain that I had washed it when I got home, and then forgot about it, until later. By Sunday at five pm the temperature had dropped from the sixties down into the thirties.
I ended up with my hands freezing, and bought three pairs of gloves, including a heavy wool pair and a rubberized oil resistant pair for windproofing, but I still had to alternate hands on the throttle it was so cold.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the bike refused to slow down or speed up…the throttle was frozen…literally. I wasn’t sure what was going on at the time, but later figured that water had gotten into the throttle cable, either from the rain or from washing the bike, and then had frozen while I was riding.
Afraid to continue on down the relatively abandoned roads back to school, and with no motels in sight, we decided to try for a chance to either sleep or sit up all night in a local sherriff’s office.
The deputy on duty was very accommodating, and gave us our choice of sleeping in a cell on a mattress, or on the deputies’ room, which was a bit warmer. For lots of reasons, we opted for the floor of the deputies’ room and a couple of blankets.
In the morning, we went by a local garage, even though the throttle now worked. The mechanic checked the bike out for free, and seconded my opinion that water had frozen in the cable, causing it to stick.
So we finally made it home the following day, and I believe I must have cut a couple of Monday classes.
While I realize that cold can be therapeutic for injuries, and tonic for building character in the face of adversity, I will never be one to seek out cold for fun. So between worrying about mechanical difficulties, almost literally freezing to death, and taking about fifteen hours to complete what should have been a three hour ride, I decided I wasn’t cut out for cold weather riding.
I have since done some cold weather (sub freezing) camping, with my son when he was five or six, and we hung in for a week. But we were equipped for the adventure, I told him we could bale whenever he wanted to, and it was fun playing mountain climbers.
But I have never since had a desire to ride in really cold weather. If you enjoy it, more power to you, and you can have my share of cold weather riding, with no complaint from me.
And I still go out in the cold some of the time, just to stay toughened up against the cold. But it is entirely to toughen myself up and to stay tough…I fail to see what could be fun about it, unless perhaps I was willing to risk busting an arm or a leg or a knee on a pair of skis, which I am not.
Cold weather adventures are fine for toughening up. But all things considered, I’d rather stay out of the soupy/crappy weather as much as possible.
Glad you got something positive out of it, Jack. As for me, I’d rather brave the heat, and remember to protect my skin from harmful sun rays.
I think the original Vikings had it right: eternal damnation is spending eternity in the cold, not in fire. And eternal joy is being in a warm place.
And as much as I wish my son didn’t have plans to move, I am much happier that it is south from here, and warmer, than I would be if, for example, he was moving to South Dakota. And it is as much about the weather as it is about the distance.
As a cager, I envy that tach.
Do bike tire compounds grip at all at 19F?
Not much, no….
The next time your quixotic persona surfaces, repeat after me, “John Conway Baruth III,”