This morning I drove to the Supermarket, parked up and headed the remaining 15km into work. It was -1°C and I rode along muddy bridleways, along windswept fields and into a cross headwind throwing light rain into my face. There were puddles everywhere and it was desolate in the gloomy light as the day awoke.
Halfway and the wind whipped up, big snowflakes scattering across my front. The only way to cope was to pedal faster. I had 4 layers on top and the core was toasty. With less than 1km to work, small, hard hail pellets drove into my back as the tailwind carried me up the rise
It was a glorious end, face and clothes splattered with mud, hail falling off me I had arrived at work. There were no exclamations of foolhardiness from colleagues nor acknowledgments of bravery and resilience in the face of the beginnings of the “beast from the east” (or winter as it happens in the rest of the world). The glory was an internal, endorphin driven buzz from a morning of adventure in the big chill.
Hometime was a grinding struggle with tired legs. It was colder (apparently) but there was no wind to speak of. Somehow I was marginally faster but it just didn’t feel epic like the morning. Strava tells me that I have ridden 19 times in the 17 days of January so far. For someone who thought that he would take a winter break, this is great! This could mean that I have ridden 112% of 2019 which could explain why I am tired.
So it’s time for a bonus rest day & cricket commentary company from somewhere warmer while I crawl to work in the van somewhere much colder.