Dec 10, 2021 4 min read

My calendar has always had two seasons: bike season and sad season.

Like many people, I suffer from a bit of seasonal affective disorder, when shorter days and a lack of sunshine cause a certain sad droopiness to the spirit. I blame my own SAD months on not being able to ride the bike trails. For years, seeing my bike hanging from the rack in the garage has been about as depressing a sight as anything else I see every day.

But this year I decided it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way. I was reminded of my friend Guido. Like a mailman on wheels, he bundles up and cycles to his school job every day, rain, snow or shine. And if he can do it without turning into a popsicle, why couldn’t I?

Until this season, I avoided riding in any weather below 55 degrees. But when the mercury dropped last month, I decided to layer up for my first chilly ride -T-shirt, sweater, then sweatshirt on top, padded shorts on the bottom. Knit cap on my head.

Half a mile down the trail I knew I’d miscalculated: moving creates wind, which blows through even three layers of fabric. My bare hands and arms were freezing, and by the time I got back to the car I couldn’t feel my calves at all.

If I was going to make a go of year-round cycling, I would need to gear up like the serious riders do. A visit to a cycling website and $200 later, I was ready to take on December, and maybe even January and February.

I bought a jacket made of Teflon or something like that, engineered to block the wind, as well as long padded cycling pants, special thin gloves made to grip the handlebars, a skull cap to wear under a helmet, and a muffly neck thing. If the bike ride didn’t work out, I was appropriately attired for a space walk.

Walking out the door, I realized the new pants don’t have the deep, stretchy pockets in which to stow my phone and snacks. No pockets on the new jacket either, and so I donned my padded shorts on top of the padded pants and goodness, that’s a lot of padding down there.

At the Montour Trail, I waddled out of my car, pulled the bike off the rack, adjusted my butt padding one more time and off I went. It was 45 degrees, the coldest temperature I’d ever ridden.

And it was windy – a strong headwind that bent the top branches of the trees and sent leaves swirling onto the path ahead of me. I’m not exactly what you would call aerodynamic even when wearing one layer in the middle of July. Now, with my torso heavily upholstered with wool and encased in a jacket of synthetic sheeting, I was basically a schooner pushing against the wind. I could barely maintain 8 miles an hour.

The Stay-Puft Marshmallow man goes for a ride.

I was lumpy, but not cold. I’m not sure if I got my usual cardio workout; all that padding – above the waist and below – tends to impede movement.

Are 20-degree days in my future? We’ll have to see if my get-up is warm enough for that. I suspect that when February comes around, I’ll be counting the days until spring, the way I always have.

But now I know how to keep riding through the 50s and the 40s – slower for sure, but outdoors. It makes the season a little less sad.