The First Bike Ride of "Spring"(A Nevillian Adventure)

When I moved this past November, I went from a massive apartment complex with a creepy (but free!) gym to a small housing unit about two miles away from the nearest Bally's. My rent is considerably cheaper, which makes a gym membership affordable. But Bally's is two miles in the WRONG direction, and so a chore to get to. Not worth the $35 a month I'd pay to have to deal with getting there (and back) after an already too-long commute, the awkwardness of a public shower, etc. So I purchased an elliptical machine to get me through the winter. I also have a few (light) weights and some pilates equipment.... all decent stuff, but none of it gives me the endorphin kick offered by a great jog ourdoors, or good gym equipment.

This endorphin deficit has created quite a desire for spring weather, which brings with it the ability to jog outdoors without a snowsuit, and — even better — to march my bike over to the lake, and ride the paths along it.

I can't complain about this past winter too much, though. The climate was mild enough at times that I was able to go jogging 2-3 times a month. I'd cover myself first with my usual shorts and shirt (with the proper "support," of course), over which I'd throw some of that dri-fit stuff (keeps you warm without trapping the sweat). And still over that, I'd throw on wind pants, a long-sleeve shirt, and oftentimes a fleece or sweatshirt.

I'd do this on days when it was 30F+ degrees out. Still fairly cold, but once you get a decent jog going, your body temperature helps keep you warm. But it doesn't protect your skin from the bitter cold winds whipping off of the lake, and I was always amazed by how many "dedicated" joggers I'd see out there, wearing nothing but shorts and a long-sleeved shirt. They had considerably less weight holding them down than I did, but I couldn't help but secretly make fun of them.

"What loons," I'd think, noting their bright red legs as they passed me. "Don't they know it's only 15 with the wind chill?"

I'd shake my head, and keep on truckin' at my own (much slower) steady pace.

Occasionally, too, I'd see a serious cyclist out on the trail, covering their neck and face with gators, and the rest of their body with a tight, black spandex drysuit. These people, I decided, were especially nuts. It's already cold, and windy, and they're traveling at speeds 3X's faster than the average jogger. The wind chill they face, I decided, must border on torturous.

And still I envied them. For the past three months, I've longed for any sort of cycling — stationary, recumbent, mountain bike — anything. I was waiting for the first sign of warm weather to qualm my cycle-lust. I thought I found that yesterday afternoon.

It was about 50F when I was driving home from work. There was little wind, the sky was a bright blue, and the chirping birds seemed to be begging me to take my bike to the lake. But I knew I had to act fast, since sunset was only a couple hours away. I changed into my jogging attire (as described above), added a wrap for my neck, and walked out my door. The temperature by this point had dropped at least five degrees. And I wasn't even moving fast yet.

But I was still OK by the time I got to the lake (by which point, the temperature was probably 35). My body stayed warm — how could it not with the snowsuit I was wearing — but my toes, face and chin were miserable. Five miles into the ride, and I felt like going home.

But I had to ride home to get there. I stopped long enough to take the gator from my neck and stretch it out to the full head, face and neck wrap that it's capable of being. Coupled with the red bike helmet, I looked like a mental snow monster preparing to rob a liquor store. And I realized, as I turned around and began the journey back, that I was now one step closer to resembling all those cycling fanatics I had previously made fun of.

Only I was worse. I had on the mask to keep me warm (as they all do), but I also had something they didn't: 4 1/2 layers of clothes to make me look all the more ridiculous. I suspect most of the joggers and cyclists I passed were quite amused (and I bet their toes weren't as bitterly cold, either!). But I don't have the body for those super-tight drysuits. I mean, who wants to see that on a bike?

And so, silly as I looked, I've siphoned only one lesson from last night's adventure:

Next time, I'm wearing TWO pairs of socks.