Freezing My Asphalt: Bike commuting in the raw weather.

 

This is the second entry in The Commuter Chronicles.

I have been writing about how I have been getting to and from work as a bike commuter (and sometimes as a runner) in order to exercise more and pollute less. This entry explores how I deal with riding in the darkest, coldest times.

Thick frost on the glass frames darkness, a streetlight, the mountain of plowed snow across the street.

The phone says it’s 7 degrees outside. My body says, no way in hell, I’m biking through this to work. But then I think about how I’ll answer the question waiting for me when I walk in the door: “How did you get here today?”

Thirty-six hours have passed since the last flakes fluttered out from the monster blizzard that pile-drove its way into Connecticut. The roads are cleared — sorta. Just don’t count the 100-foot patches of compacted snow. Also, ignore the frozen canyon walls the plows left behind and the buried margins that leave a non-existent gap between the bike and traffic lanes. I sip my coffee, and I factor in the extra time I’ll need to take the less-trafficked back roads. I unseal the handwarmers.

Visibility

Learning to deal with weather has been the most consistent, and interesting challenge I’ve faced as a New England bike commuter. It is a challenge I relish. I have learned new ways to dress, and to anticipate what my body will need exerting itself on a freezing January morning versus a June afternoon. I dance with the changing seasons. Those who encase themselves in climate-controlled vehicles, complete with headlights and seat warmers, are sitting it out.

In the sun’s absence I rely upon technology for seeing and for being seen.

There’s a bicycle light, a $60 gadget, and literal pale imitation of what the sun provides for free. Other than the bike itself, it is the most expensive item in my bike commuting arsenal. For years, I used either a cheap headlamp (not so comfortable when combined with a helmet) or a rechargeable flashlight attached to my wrist with rubber bands. The latter, was actually, better than the headlamp, but remained a consummate pain in the neck.)

Note to people just starting bike commuting: you absolutely don’t need a bike light if you want to save the money. It sure is nice to have one, though. I’ve found that lights that were perfectly serviceable for a night hike simply don’t cut it for a bike ride, where the faster speeds require a brighter beam to see the road ahead. Now that I have a stronger light, I pedal with more confidence, and find myself hitting the brakes less cruising down hills.

I still haven’t bought myself a similarly high-end taillight, for the excellent reason that I am cheap. I usually rely on a blinking solar lantern that I have rigged off the back rack and a red blinking wrist band. Neither of these will help me be seen better in daylight, though I do wear bright colors to help me stand out.

Dressing warm, dressing weird

I begin the roll down the crunching street by the headlight. Orange glow pools along the southeastern sky; stars, then planets dissolve in the flood of dawn.

The frigid air stings the exposed flesh around my eyes. I’m dressed for the cold ride, though not in comfort. My body is encased in a menagerie of equipment, including kayak gear. These include a neoprene balaclava hood, designed to keep me warm in frigid water immersion.

The hood is thin enough to fit easily under a bike helmet, but it still creates a bombproof layer against the wind.

Pogies are another piece of kayak equipment that has served me well biking. Also made of neoprene, pogies wrap around a paddle shaft and create a toasty pocket for the hands. They fit imperfectly around bike handlebars, but they buffer the wind, and work well with mitts and handwarmers.

Then there is the surgical mask. Not only do these tragically politicized symbols of pandemic times protect against airborne viruses, they also can take the edge off a brutal draft. I’ve only worn surgical masks on the coldest days. I accept the fact that it will be half-frozen and ruined by the end of the ride, but it is a cheap item to replace. I generally ride with masks that have reached the end of their useful lifespans. One disadvantage: fogging makes it impossible to ride with both glasses and mask on, so I end up stowing the former item in my fanny pack.

I can steer a bike competently enough as a two-eyes and accept crappier eyesight in exchange for feeling in my cheeks.

Moving from head to torso, my garments are more conventional. I have a flashy neon windbreaker over a puffy layer. Warmth, plus visibility. I don’t always wear the extra reflective vest, but do today, due to the reduced margins and dangerous driving conditions.

So far, the few cars on the roads have passed slowly and left ample room. Here and there, the tires crunch over fresh snow, and I stay in low gear. Nothing has stopped me yet.

The snow pants I wear are almost overkill. I can feel sweat beading on my legs as I crank the biggest hill, but I am infinitely grateful for them as wind whips around me when I swoop down an accompanying grade.

Footwear turns out to be my biggest gear mistake. My slides, perfect for dressing and undressing quickly, are simply not up to six miles of riding in the coldest conditions, even though I am in my warmest socks. I scold myself for not wearing boots as the stinging wind lashes helpless toes.

Door to Door to Door

By the time I reach the last uphill, I am happy for the warmth of effort.

The back wheel spins out on an icy drift. Clenching teeth, I hold the handlebars in place and inch my way past.

I crest the hill and the destination is in sight. I think of all the days when I’ve ridden my car and my coworkers tell me, “Of course you rode in. You can’t ride your bike in this!

I hope someone asks me today. I’ll let them know the score.

The beams of sunrise play through the spectral winter branches. I almost feel the warmth. There are hints of spring, in spite of the obscene cold. Earlier in the year, it was still dark when I got to work. The bird songs seem new and decadent to me. I crouch down for the final descent.

The parking lot is empty. I don’t bother locking my bike, but key myself directly into the building and pull out my phone. Of course, there was an email — sent out about the time that I was taking my bike down the apartment steps – explaining that the poor road conditions have bought everyone a day off.

I stomp around until I get some life back into my extremities. I climb back into the saddle, going home. Woodsmoke, lit DayGlo orange from morning light bright, billows up from a chimney. I ride along the frozen Mystic River where plates of brine ice have shattered up against the rocks in lucent piles. I feel my brows frozen too. At least my legs are still moving.

I think about warm blankets.

 

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Bed to Bike in 40 minutes: Applied psychology has helped me remain faithful to my bike commute.

Photo: Farrah Garland

Note:

This is my first entry in the Commuter Chronicles.

In the coming weeks, I will be writing about how I have been getting to and from work as a bike commuter (and sometimes as a runner) in order to exercise more and pollute less.

While this may seem like a step away from much of the adventure writing that I typically post, I have also found that the bike commute serves as a daily mini adventure, an adventure that presents challenges and rewards, an adventure that connects me with the surrounding nature and community in Southeastern Connecticut.

This first post will discuss ways in which routine helps me to get out the door faster and better prepared for the world. Some future topics that I will explore include, dealing with challenging road conditions, managing sweat, how bike commuting has changed my relationship with work, bike repair, and why I think small choices remain relevant in our era of big problems.

I hope you stick around and enjoy the ride!

As of a few months ago, I began taking my bicycle into my bedroom. We’d entered a new phase in the relationship.

It is not that I love my steel-framed diamondback hybrid so much that I can’t bear to be apart, or that I want its graceful lines to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning. Ours is a marriage of convenience.

The bike takes me to work most days. It needs to be ready to go, with nary a dilly, even a dally. I have 6-miles of road to cover door to door. I have to be in the building, professional, and presentable, by 7:30am. Assuming that I don’t want to get up at an egregious hour, mornings will require tight choreography, not me stumbling down to a freezing basement to pick at the combo lock with numbed fingers.

The fact that I keep the bike in the room is only one of a series of morning habits that I follow in order to get on the road quickly over the years. Mornings vary, but I generally get out the door 40 minutes after I wake up. I now go down a checklist, and I have organized my apartment to facilitate speedy egress.

This is no easy feat considering my abstract-random personality and corresponding aversion toward structure. “Life hacks” and other self-optimization strategies often seem like Trojan horses from the work worship culture. Nonetheless, I hate getting bogged down by poorly shuffled gear. The motorless commute succeeds for me, not only because I am committed to decreasing my impact on the environment; it succeeds because I have planted that commitment in a larger ecosystem of habits and routines.

Habits are more powerful than principles. One need only look at how New Year’s resolutions go askance. The toughest habits to break, tend to be “low friction,” according to psychologist Anne Wood. This means that they only require a few easy steps. If I wanted to stop wasting time on the internet, it would be much harder to break the habit, if time-wasting sites were just a click away (this is a hypothetical example, obviously.) The vice is practically frictionless. Driving also has low psychological friction. I need only get in the car and turn the key.

Biking to work, with its many steps, is high friction. Sure, you could just get dressed, hop on the bike, and roll out – if you like jeopardizing your paycheck.  Arriving, clean, and professional, at the end of the ride, involves steps that driving doesn’t require. These steps include packing work clothes, loading a bike rack, checking the weather, and dressing properly for the conditions. All of this is long before I start pedaling up the first hill.

So how is it that I choose not to spend an extra hour beneath the covers when I wake up in the early morning dark? Why don’t I just drive to work with everyone else? My answer is that I reduce friction. Preset routines are like oil on the bike chain. They enable me to glide through my morning with as few steps and as few decisions as possible.

Here are some strategies I use.

·         The Checklist.

I have a laminated checklist on the door telling me what to do throughout the morning. At one point, I would have thought that it was infantile to remind myself to brush my teeth or gather The Trinity (my keys, wallet, and cellphone.) from the bedside. I have finally accepted the truth: I can forget almost anything. This is especially true when I am groggy or feeling rushed in the morning. I make this easier by putting key items in exactly the same places, the night before. I feel much less anxiety, and move faster in the morning, when I know that there is a hard copy on the door to guide me right.

·         Workout Pajamas

Sleeping in workout clothes has been a common trick for the morning exercise crowd. It not only helps get things moving quickly; it also spares me the cold shock of changing clothes in a chilly room. I drape my riding jacket over the handlebars, so that I can slip right into it, along with my helmet and fanny pack.

·         The Fanny Pack.

The keys, wallet and cell phone go into a forward-facing fanny pack. The dorkiness is severe. However, I prefer this to the discomfort of cycling with all that stuff in my pockets. The fanny pack also allows me to drop keys and mask somewhere quickly when I lock my door. When I inevitably question whether I have forgotten one of these crucial items, I can spot them quickly without patting or digging.

·         Packing, Charging Ahead of Time

It is easy to load my bike up ahead of time when I keep it in the room with me. I make sure it is packed with all the clothes, food, and equipment that I could want. Putting things on the bike rack is preferable to using a backpack because I am less liable to sweat. I also have recently invested in a rechargeable handlebar light. It’s great, but also a hassle attaching and detaching the thing. Since the bike is already inside, however, I can just use an extension cord to charge the lamp in its place.

·         Pre-made breakfast

The fastest way out the door would be to grab a Clif bar or a banana with no cooking. However, speed is not my only goal. The pleasures of hot coffee and warm oatmeal are vital motivations on a cold morning. I economize time by pouring out my instant oatmeal ahead of time, along with peanut butter, raisins, and instant coffee on the side. All the water I need is already waiting on a hot plate near the bed. I just plug it in. I can finish last-minute chores while the water heats. (Pro-tip: Pour the instant coffee before the water boils. It not only saves time on the stovetop; it will also be ready to drink sooner.)

·         Slides over Sneakers

Yes, I’m lazy to the point that I would rather slip into my shoes than tie and untie them. This is also helpful when I get to work, and I have to change pants again.

·          Gear at Work

I try to leave as many supplies as possible at work. Often, I bring extra clothes or provisions in on days when I have to drive, due to weather or other circumstances. I don’t have much space to store goods in the building, but I have found that I have room to stash rolled-up dress shirts, freeze-dried coffee, and meals. In a previous model of the bike commute, I had arrived to work early and breakfasted in the breakroom. It seemed to work out just fine. Unbeknownst to me, however, my early arrival had been triggering a silent alarm — and a police department visit. This went on for weeks until I discovered what was happening. My employer did not encourage the arrangement. I now eat breakfast at home.

Following these routines may make mornings easier, but based on the number of steps involved, you can see that they are far from frictionless. These procedures have added value to my life in other ways, however, including helping me become a better planning. For a long time, I have seen procedure as stifling, antithetical to the fun creative person I perceive in myself. Over the years, however, I have recognized that procedural minds have a talent for getting things done. By borrowing their systemic mojo, I add value to my own unconventional ethos.

Unfortunately, many of the lowest-friction routines in this country also hurt the environment. It is easy to drive to our jobs, purchase pre-made meals, and remain disengaged from public life or personal responsibility.

Politics, societal inertia, and commerce have put the least psychological friction around driving and the most friction around all else. Creating a community that welcomes non-drivers requires far more coordination than my morning routine. It requires people working together to create research, interviews, arguments, laws.

We are half-awake and have barely pulled the covers off. We’ll be hard-pressed to get to work on time. A checklist is a good place to start.