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Winter bike riding is a hard sell. It is not for almost anyone, even though cold weather outdoor recreation is a huge industry. But the bike carries a psychological load. It comes to us early in life as a warm weather plaything. That impression is indelible. But the truth is, as long as the sun is bright, the clothing made for cycling protects its user from the elements with a high level of comfort. The problem is simply that warm weather riding is oh-so-much better. The fact that winter riding is as comfortable as any other outdoor sport somehow gets lost.

For me anything above freezing with bright sun, clear roads and less than gale force winds is fun to play in. Without sun it has to be over 40F. Since this winter’s first snow I’ve been out more than 20 times for one to two hour rides. That doesn’t replace my 20-hour-a-week warm weather routine, and the difference shows on my bathroom scale. Come mid-summer the 10-15 winter pounds will be gone.

This is a weekend in early March and the forecast says Saturday is the day. The sun is brilliant, not a cloud in the sky, and slowly the temperature crawls over the freezing mark. I have not ridden in two weeks.

It takes a few minutes to layer myself with technical clothing designed as purposefully for this job as ski duds for skiing. Okay, skiing fashion trends are cutting edge. Sadly, cycling’s basic black Lycra shorts or tights and garish jerseys branded with Euro commerce are a fashion nightmare. Fat or thin, men wearing loud jerseys and tights in public? Not happening.

It is 34F. Dressing begins with two layers of tights and two of long sleeve shirts over which goes a fleece-lined shell. Three pair of cotton socks, cycling shoes, balaclava, glasses, gloves and helmet complete the outfit. While I’m dressing I can see some trees moving and hear the wind. I’m thinking that maybe the gym is a better idea. This is indeed a hard sell.

The bright sun is warm although it is a bit windy and time to turn on the bicycle portion of my brain. I lean the bike against my car, making certain its stable, and then position the wheels so that the tire stems are pointing straight up. Even something super-simple like pumping the tires, something that I’ve done a few hundred thousand times, requires total concentration in winter. Otherwise, strange things happen.

This day’s ride is fabulous. Spinning low gears and going slow until gravity kicks in is pure fun. It may be winter, but the sun is warm and there is only a hint of chill since no skin is exposed. That is, until I pull the balaclava under my chin to scan the road ahead for potholes and the debris that snowplows turn over. Winter riding requires very close attention.

I’m feeling pleasantly strong and good enough on a longish uphill grade to correct my sloppy form. Instead of rocking over the bike, I keep my upper body quiet while applying piston power solely from the hips down. Instantly my speed increases and I am working easier. Riding is 90% mental.

Everything feels so right that I find myself riding the Eliot side of Great Bay and that extends the ride by another hour. The tide is low. The wind is whipping across the flats and it is a lot different than on a warm summer’s day. Warm is better, but this is not half bad.

Sunday’s forecast was wrong. The day begins bright, sunny and five degrees warmer. By the time I get on the bike it is a hazy sun and warmer feels colder. It is still okay to ride, but this is not my day. I’m doing the same work and going the same speed, but it just doesn’t feel as good. When I start to labor, I don’t feel like correcting my pedal stroke, preferring to slug my way through. I am all over the bike doing a mile-an-hour faster up the same grade I smoothed over yesterday, but consuming gobs more energy.

In a seeming paradox, working harder is just plain laziness. Doing it right is a mind game, and mine is not wrapped around this ride. After 50 minutes my choice is to get home in 15 -- or ride for another hour. I am really tempted to keep going, even though I am not all in. With second thoughts I take my own advice -- less is more. I head home.

A millstone lifts and for the last few minutes I don’t even notice the headwind that I was dreading moments before. This is yet another reminder that riding is 90 % mental. Not incidentally, I was very happy to get off the bike. Winter riding, like I said, is a hard sell.

Copyright (c) 2005 by David Balkin. all rights reserved.