Horizons in the Mucklands

The temperatures were positively balmy last evening, all the way up into the high thirties (F). Like a summer's day.

Mounting the tank that is my bad-weather bike and feeling like the Michelin man because of all the clothing layers, I set out for a long spin that would see me getting home in darkness. I had the light batteries charged, the balaclava and lobster mitts on, and cross bike with fenders installed, and I was ready to go.

About five minutes into the ride, I attempted a shift from the big to little ring and remembered my promise to myself during my last ride on the tank many months ago to clean and lube the front derailleur. Downshifting required reaching down and pushing the derailleur cage in. I renewed my promise to lube it when I got home.

I headed north and east, into the seemingly endless wastelands of mucky flats south of Oneida Lake. Riding out there signals the official start of the racing season for me. The straight, flat, intensely boring roads there are perfect for those first few rides in the cold. One can maintain a nice steady tempo without getting too hot going uphill and getting too cold going downhill. At every intersection, I'd turn and face yet another flat road that disappeared onto the horizon. Surrounded by flat snow covered fields dotted with melted patches of brown muck, I spun on towards those horizons, wiggling my thumbs to try to keep the blood flowing in them.

I stepped up onto the porch in the dark, home safe and sound two hours after heading out. Only my nose, thumbs, sinuses, and lungs had felt the cold. My toe warmers and boots had done their job, and the balaclava had kept my head and ears toasty. I put the bike away, forgetting my promise to lube the front derailleur (which I'll probably remember about five minutes into my next ride), stretched, breathed warm wet air deeply in a long shower, and ate tasty leftovers.

The legs felt fine coming down the stairs this morning, but my eyes feel the general fatigue induced by a good early-season tempo spin over the nearly freezing mucklands.

It's unseasonably warm here over the next few days, and I hope to get in many more miles before Old Man Winter remembers it's only March and comes back in town to dump some serious ice on us.

See you on the road.