I dropped down the access ramp to my apartment building. The leaves on the ground were wet from last night's rain. There were a few flakes of frost still clinging to the decaying remnants of summer. I cut through the leaf-choked sidewalk to the street beyond, my wheels silent and stealthy. I could feel cold breaths rake the back of my throat and start turning my ears numb. This would be one of the last rides like this until the seasons changed for the warmer. One last chance to race through the streets on a precision machine, zooming past cars, onlookers and other bikes. Soon I would give my roadie a nice long winter's nap, one where I would stare wistfully at the handmade frame wishing I could ride it again. I had better make the most of it.
There is snow in the forecast. For many cyclists that is a death knell for the season. The next eight months often look bleak with long hours on the trainer and the hopes for a short winter before they can take to the roads again. This mentality was precisely the reason that I took to the cold weather and crushed one last ride on my roadbike.
The weather turned out to be perfect for a hard ride. The cold air mitigated any sweat that usually left me wet and smelly, and cooled me off perfectly for hard climbs and sprints. I took my usual way to Edmonton's river valley system. Down 121 street to Victoria promenade, into the multiuse trails that are often filled with oblivious pedestrians and runners (the cold kept them at bay today) and along the river to the Walterdale Bridge.
The trails were empty, letting me keep my speed up and reminding me of the peace and serenity of winter riding. There is something to be said about being the only one on a trail. You along are willing to brave the conditions and find beauty in the harshest of conditions.
As you ride you let your mind wander, taking in the raw beauty of even the most uncivilized places. There is a reason much of the best writing is concerning these kinds of conditions. Cycling allows the mind to become the best it can be. Nothing matters but the bike, the trail and the rider. It is a form of meditation, and a form of solace from whatever else is going on in the world.
Coming out of the river valley, I climbed through Emily Murphy Park Road into the University of Alberta Campus. It being Saturday, I was greeted with empty sidewalks and paths through the school. After a snack stop at a convenience store, I was back on the road. Dropping down Walterdale Hill in a tuck I wandered back through the river valley trails, climbing towards the Highlevel Bridge. After a windy sprint across the North Saskatchewan River I realized my ride was going to be cut short by a flat tire. I was a mile from home with a pinch flat. Thankfully the leak was slow enough to get me back home. The cool streets devoid of people and cars. I passed apartment after apartment, the cool blue of television sets glowing out of their windows. Nobody would notice a lonely rider on the street outside, silently whizzing by with a massive grin on his face.
The coming winter means a long nap for my Devinci Chicane, but she deserves it. Here's to the spring, here's to winter riding and here's to the road.
MK