It's dark out. 40 degrees. Raining. The weather radar image looks like a computer simulation of some kind of cellular disease process.
A perfect night for a ride!
I can do this because I am equipped to do it. I commuted via bicycle from Astoria to downtown Manhattan, eight miles each way, five days a week, rain or shine, summer and winter, for over two years, and acquired the gear to make me comfy while lesser mortals shivered on the elevated platforms of N line subway stations in Queens.
I have wicking layers in multiple weights of Bergelene, a nifty synthetic fabric that is toasty and good for doing active things. I have Cannondale Lycra tights. I have a complete single layer Gore-Tex rainsuit that used to be offered by L.L. Bean, perfect for cycling because it's Gore-Tex and nothing else, no lining, no fluff, which allows for clever under-layering to meet any conditions. I have Neoprene booties to keep my pedalling feet toasty and dry, and Pearl Izumi winter-weight gloves with Pittards leather palms. I have over 40 watts of lighting in two systems that I attached to the front of my Street Machine using a custom T-mount I made out of PVC pipe, blinky red lights visible for two miles on the rear rack, and the cold-cathode Down Low Glow on the chainstays that spreads an ice-blue cushion of radiance across the entire road.
So I strapped the batteries on the bike, suited up, popped Heaven or Las Vegas in the CD player, and headed off into the cold evening.
What I didn't have, it turned out, was a pair of cycling glasses with prescription inserts that wouldn't fog up. Not being able to see in the dark rain when you're on a recumbent that can top out at over 40 mph isn't particularly safe, hydraulic brakes or no. So I stashed the glasses in my jacket pocket and felt much better about blurred vision than I had about totally obscured vision as I huffed through the icy spatter.
8 miles in 38 minutes, in the country dark, with cold-clay wet cheeks on my face and hoots from a carful of girls who slowed down to see exactly what the hell I was riding and what a person who rides such a thing on such a night looks like. I didn't mind. I get equal attention day or night on this vehicle, which is fine, because while I am getting stared at from SUVs I am getting smaller, while those who are doing the staring are getting fatter. I grin and wave alot. I have found that children--especially those with with skateboards--and men with beards are the most appreciative of my vehicle.
I would never ride this in the city--it's too low, and not quite nimble enough to avoid foolish pedestrians and car doors flung wide. But here, among the rolling hills and the fields and along tree-lined roads, it's a swooping orange meditation on wheels. Unlike an upright bike, which shoves a block of seat up your ass and bends your spine and puts tension on your shoulders to maintain a riding position, the Street Machine actually rewards relaxation. The less tension I have in my body, the more I ease my shoulders, the gentler my grip on the steering bar, the easier the bike is to control, the more it flows, and the faster I go. It's sort of like an un-bike, in that respect: everything is opposite. I can't rely on gravity to mash pedals down when going up hills--it's all about leg muscle strength. There's no pulling up on the handle bars for leverage when going fast, because they're positioned under the seat and there's no leverage to be had there.
It's on the downhills that the joy comes: 30, 35, 40 miles per hour, with little or no effort, low to the ground, stable, nearly silent, all in a relaxed and reclining position with a full and easy view of the scenery.
Except, of course, when it's dark and raining and my glasses have totally fogged up and I'm blinded by the lights of an oncoming car. That can be a little tense.
But such adventures are my little mountains to free-climb, my bungee jumps and my sky-dives. I'd forgotten that: I need them. They're good for my body, mind, and soul.
Now, while my rain suit hangs drying on the shower bar in the bathroom, I'll head to bed and sleep the good sleep that comes from physical effort, and in the morning, I'll have lost a few ounces, and gained a bit more well-being.
And that's why I ride in the dark and the cold and the wet.
