MUTABILITY

I don't make new year resolutions, but this year I did think that I'd like to ride more. Of course, in winter, this is problematic because the weather is so changeable, usually for the worse, and you have to take every opportunity to ride that you can, because you never know when the next chance is going to be. 
When you do get to go, when the weather and roads offer a brief dry respite between winter showers, you bundle up in many layers and get out on the road, and whether you are to be admired (by kids, especially, who smile and wave and point and tug their parents' hands) or squashed (by cars with no concept of why they have mirrors or indicators) or just mistrusted (by pedestrians who don't believe you understand the concept of a zebra crossing in a parking lot) is as changeable as the weather. 

BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN

This weekend, I managed to go for my first ride of 2018. It was freezing, but for a change dry. A good day, in other words, for a shortish run to a favourite pub for a full on lunch. Sitting outside, under the heaters, because once you've layered up in all the clothes that allow you to ride in this weather without picking up frostbite, sitting inside would be a case of broil-in-bag. 
After about 3 weeks of no riding, between Christmas, illness and truly dreich weather, I was a little worried about the state of the battery and whether the bike would even consent to start. She snarled about this neglect for the first half mile before settling down into the more familiar purr. 
The time off two wheels made the whole experience fresh, exhilarating - truly breath-taking (that might have been the cold, too). When you ride a lot, sometimes you forget the reasons you love it. The aggravations of traffic and idiots in cages or on two feet, or cyclists who have no mirrors but don't think to turn their heads and check pre-manoeuvring tend to drown out the sheer thrill of essentially sitting on a growling, throbbing beast; pure power dying to be unleashed. 
Visor down, knee down, eyes open, throttle wide. Smile wider. It feels very good to be back in the saddle again. 

LARKS VERSUS OWLS

We've been having a cold snap over here. Winter temperatures with a vengeance, and I've blogged about it quite a lot. I know. 
On Saturday, I headed out early-ish, cheerfully abandoning my entire to-do list and a sink full of washing up in favour of riding, and hopefully beating the worst of the traffic. I have a friend who keeps making "pillion, please" noises, but I fear she is an Owl and I ride too Lark-like for her. I'm not a natural Lark. I just enjoy quiet, clear roads more than busy ones, and I live in a city. Also, I am far less conscientious than she. I am happy to ignore the mounting pile of tasks in favour of even cold and slippish roads. 
(They weren't wet, per se, and they weren't properly icy, either. Just somewhere in between. Not quite dry, not quite slippery).
I spent the ride taking my mind off the cold by debating the Speed/Time compromise  The longer you ride, the colder you get, but the faster you ride, the colder you get. So is speed or time going to be ultimately colder?
I stopped at a nice cafe in Kent (there are a few, but this one has parking) and as soon as I entered a waiter asked if I'd like to order a drink. Yes. Coffee. Extra hot. 

WIND CHILL FACTORS

On Sunday, I went for a nice, if freezing ride, stopping off at Chessington Garden Centre (which has a lovely cafe) for coffee and a scone. The roads were still fairly damp from Saturday's rather dreich weather, but mostly not actually wet. I can live with damp if there's minimal mud-splash or floating diesel. 
I wore my toasty velvet-lined leggings under my jeans and dug out my gore-tex jacket and winter gloves, over a polo-neck and 2 buffs, and thermal socks with winter boots, and a full face helmet, but by the time I got to the A243, my fingernails were achingly cold, and my nose was practically cryogenic (closing the visor just made things foggy) and I hadn't been able to feel my toes since Robin Hood.
But - this is why we invented the coffee stop. Whether you call it a coffee stop or comfort break, the idea is always to counteract the weather. In winter, it's a chance to curl your fingers (assuming you can make them move at all) around a mug of something hot until they thaw out, to wriggle your toes until you're sure they're still attached, to let your muscles shiver in a way you can't allow while riding, and to fill your stomach with fuel to burn to keep you warmer. It's always warmer riding after such a stop, even if the temperature has dropped or the wind picked up. 

VENTING

So after a few storms knocking around during the week, Sunday dawned crisp and clear and chilly, and I layered up and headed out. 
The wind was what's best called fitful - coming in fits and starts, gusts only, but gusting like a toddler tantrum - full force. 
Now, I've had my bike for long enough to have got used to not having a screen to split the headwind and channel it past my chest and head. (I can't say I've noticed a decrease in dead bugs on my visor, whatever everyone else is reporting). 
I can handle the full headwind now, and while it's tiring sometimes, it's also predictable and controllable (insofar as it's related to my speed). A gusting wind, though, buffets bike and rider unpredictably, and generally tries to push you either off the road or into the truck next to you. 
It also tends to find any tiny gap or crack in your clothing and twist itself through to chill any part it can reach - up cuffs, through vents and seams, between the teeth of zips.
All of which is, I guess, precisely why we invented the Coffee Stop. 

COFFEE STOP

PUB CRUISING

On Saturday, I took advantage of the slightly-drier-than-Sunday forecast and went for a ride along the A40 through the Aston Rowant Reserve. That is to say, I went for a ride in the Chilterns, on a nice twisty hillside road that threads through a wood, which was surprisingly green for this time of year.
It's a run I do relatively often, and for the sake of variation, went on to try a new pub, The Chequers, which is down a back street in Watlington and a little obscure, but does very good food and friendly service (it's clearly family run).
This makes a very nice run for autumn and spring, being too short for summer, but best used when there's still enough warmth and sun to make use of their extensive beer garden.

I shall have to go back in a few weeks, to see the woods in all their autumn glory. (Of course to see the woods. It couldn't possibly be anything to do with a good pub lunch, now, could it?)

TRAFFIC WATCH

After a week away, the bike desperately needed a run, so on Saturday,  I headed off for coffee at a semi-local vineyard. Alas, everyone else had the same idea, so the traffic was hellish. 

I lack patience with traffic and idiots, and it's depressing how often they seem to coincide. My fuse tends to shorten as my engine heats. 
The highlight of the day came when I was leaving. An old lady was crossing the parking as I did a downhill alley dock out of the parking. When I paused to check my pockets were zipped before roaring off, I saw the lady had stopped to lean on a bollard, the better to watch and give me two thumbs up as I took off. Nearly home, there was further cheer in the form of wide eyed kid with hands clapped firmly over his ears, refusing to move until he'd watched me past. Who says riding isn't a spectator sport?

All Shiny Again!