Rain. Temperatures in the 30s turning the riding surface to mush. Back to driving to work. I’m pouring pools of sweat onto the mat under my trainer. Cranking tunes on the iPod while spinning my legs like a meth-crazed hamster.When I lived in the desert, December was for riding rocky singletrack while wearing shorts and cotton T-shirts. Those were the days: Rigid bikes. Thumb shifters. Toe clips. Cheap hiking shoes. Cold beer—or maybe Christmas dinner—at the end of the ride.
Who knew I’d end up living in a place where the perfect winter temperature is 18 degrees? Cold enough to keep the trail firm, warm enough to ride.
Come March, warm winds are welcome. Weeks of slush are tolerable when you know dry trails aren’t far behind. In the dark days of December, moods go down as temperatures go up.
Splashy bad. Crunchy good.
Who knew I’d end up living in a place where the perfect winter temperature is 18 degrees? Cold enough to keep the trail firm, warm enough to ride.
Come March, warm winds are welcome. Weeks of slush are tolerable when you know dry trails aren’t far behind. In the dark days of December, moods go down as temperatures go up.
Splashy bad. Crunchy good.
1 comment:
I understand exactly what you mean. My mom, because yesterday it dropped to 7 in SLC, said: "Oh, it must be so nice now that it's 40 degrees there." No. I liked it much better when it was 8 degrees. Now, when I go out riding, I actually am cold ... because I'm soaked. Blah.
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