Blog-like description of my commute follows:
When I got up, it was 24 degrees, or thereabouts. I procrastinated, reading the bicycling newsgroups
and folding laundry. The sun came up, it got marginally warmer, about 28, and I got on the bike.
It was clear and cold. Lots of ice, black and otherwise, on the street. I decided to take the route
that minimized descending hills. I also decided to take Eastgate Way (after recently warning Dane
against this route -- see: tinyurl.com2re8dOpen ↗) because I thought the heavy traffic would mean
less ice on the road.
Eastgate, though, despite the usual traffic, had just as much ice on the road as any other route. I
saw the 212 bus ready to turn behind me, and thought, I'm going to hang up the bike on that bus
before I hit the wrong patch and slip out. When I got off the bus, and was riding through downtown,
there was no ice, and it was 34.
On the way home I was nervous about riding on the bike trail through the swamp. Where the trail
cuts through the swamp is typically the iciest part of any ride -- it can be clear anywhere else,
but the swamp is a cold sink and the dampness it traps means that the trail can be covered in a
sheen of ice.
I decided instead to take Bellevue Way and Lake Hills Connector. I rode this way all through the
spring and summer, because it has a long, steady climb (unlike Eastgate, which is like stair steps,
and makes for more like an "intervals" style of training) and I wanted to have the practice hill
climbing. I abandoned the route as we got into fall, because the traffic is relatively heavy on
Bellevue Way, and I don't like riding in the dark with that much traffic.
It wasn't quite dark yet (yea! We're past solstice!) and so Bellevue Way wasn't that bad -- I had
the headlight on, anyway. Most of the ice was just in the gutters, and I felt justified in choosing
the route. At the bottom of the hill, where the Connector begins, the road sits in the shade all
day, and it was cold, baby.
Half way up the climb up the Connector, I became aware that the trunk of my body was not cold. In
fact, it was like a furnace. Three-quarters of the climb, now spinning in my smallest granny gear,
in the final slog, I could feel the sweat trickling between the poly-pro fleece undershirt and my
back. At the top of the hill, at the light, I pulled off my gloves and put the still-frozen
fingertips against the sweaty-hot flesh of the back of my neck. Once they were thawed, I unzipped my
hi vis outer jacket, my fleece inner jacket, and the undershirt down to the top of the reflective
vest. Immediately my glasses fogged up with the escaping warm moist air.
The light turned green, and the unzipped clothes scooped up the cold night air. By the next red
light I had sufficiently cooled down that I zipped everything back up.
There were two more hills to climb -- near the top of the second, and the highest altitude of the
ride, ice started to reappear -- not just on the shoulders, but even in the middle of the road.
After reaching the top, in the summer time, sometimes I sail down the hill largely no-handed, just
shifting my weight to make the turns through the descent. This time, I had my hands firmly in the
drops, feathering the brakes and descending cautiously. I could see the ice glittering and
shimmering under the street lights.
I got home, and poured myself a nice big hot bath. My husband very kindly fetched me a beer, and I
sat in the tub, thawing my toes and reading "Seabiscuit". There is really no better finish to a
winter ride, I think, than this.
--
Warm Regards,
Claire Petersky
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