Water is an asshole, at least when it comes to bicycles. So is wind, now that I think of it; I don’t love it, unless its at my back, but that rarely seems to happen even on out-and-back routes. Fire’s not winning any prizes either, unless you’re talking about the hunk-a-hunka burnin’ V. Even le soleil isn’t scoring points for either the bike or the rider, unless given in carefully-controlled amounts, a fact which has large portions of the Pacific Northwest – perhaps the gloomiest place on Earth – buying up more high-SPF sunscreen and sunglasses per capita than any other place in the civilized world.
In other words, Nature’s a bit of a beyotch.
As far as our bikes go, water seems to be the biggest of these opponents. When I rode the 7-hour Heck of the North over clay-gravel roads in wind and rain; the wind was unpleasant but it left no indelible mark on me, apart from some sore muscles. The rain, on the other hand, combined with the clay from the roads to form a slurry that destroyed every bearing in my bike save one – not to mention the quarter cup of slurry that found its way into my chamois. The replacement bearings took a few weeks to source and install; the damage from the sandy chammy took over a month to heal. Water – and the additional wear it imposes on the machine (and sometimes our bodies), is not to be under estimated.
Water also introduces direct challenges while riding, the nuances of which can be explored while climbing or cornering by means of spinning out and crashing, respectively. Things get particularly interesting right around the freezing point, where the laws of physics governing cornering take on The Price is Right rules.
I have long espoused the merits of riding in bad weather; it removes the seductive qualities of riding a bike that see the weekend warriors flocking to the sport in droves during the summer months. In bad weather, the simple act of going out is already enough to make you feel the strength of your resolve as a Cyclist. But the fundamental pleasure of riding remains the same, with the added bonus of the clothing we wear making us look like the hardmen from Belgium and the dripping of water from our cycling caps serving as a metronome as we tap out our lonely path towards Mount Velomis.
We don’t ride because we love tree-lined boulevards and sunny afternoons; we ride because we love testing ourselves against our minds and the elements. There is a simple pleasure to be found in enduring a challenge; to learn to face hardship with a welcoming smile is a gift that riding a bicycle uniquely helps us discover.
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...and as the London Cogal report verifies, water is an asshole the way it facilitates glass penetration into tires so efficiently (do I get extra credit for using verifies, facilitates, penetration and efficiently in one sentence?). Leaving one fixing a flat while crouched next to the road in soaking wet lycra.
@Gianni My puncture was very near the start of the ride so I didn't fancy another 150km or so on a spare, marginally attached tubular - pitstop was the order of the day and much quicker than fannying around with tubes and patches.
My Speedplay pedals were a complete write off, they would not spin at all the next day.
The elements harden us, yet bind us as brethren.
Nothing made me feel closer to my fellow Velominatus than the other day, while riding in 28 degrees (9 with the wind chill), and seeing another, alone on his machine. We passed each other, smiling from ear to ear, as the looks on our faces said what words could not capture.
Back in the old days (1978-80S) I would commute to and from work about 18 miles each way. When it rained I would sit on the living room floor, rebuild the hubs, bottom bracket and jockey wheels. Would also clear and oil the freewheel. I was like a junkie cooking his dope. A ritual of love for the bike and everything it stood for: Beauty, pain, freedom.
Last paragraph is gold frank. You should probably stop writing any future articles. Crowsfeet be damned
@Chris
No worries on the speedplays. I've had that happen. Just inject some fresh grease into the port, until some nasty old grease comes out on the crank arm side. I think the needle bearings get all wet and grimy during a ride like that and need some new grease.
I have dirty love for rain. But proper, pishing it down rain. Drizzle? Just unpleasant without the satisfaction of a good honest soaking.
Howling wind can bugger off though. Did a ride in the fens in June. Start and finish at the same place. Over 2/3 of it into an energy sapping, bunch splitting head/crosswind. On open and busy roads, so no way to form an echelon. Every man for himself. 'orrible.
@Gianni I've pumped in grease until it's come out clean on the other side to no avail. They're fucked.
Summer here down under. We challenge the roads with a smile, quickly wiped from our visage by a cruel, cruel Nor West wind, sent to test us yet further.
Yet we ride. And ride again, as if to challenge the nature from which we were born. No wind has stopped me from riding.
Snow didn't stop me either. The snow wasn't the issue, it was the salt and grit the authorities thought would be a good idea to spread on our playing fields.
It's okay to feel challenged by the weather. The greater the challenge, the greater the satisfaction in overcoming it.
@Chris
Dog's bollocks! That is no damn good. One can buy new pedal bodies with new needle bearings already inserted. I've done that once. And had the pedal body come off the axle while still in the cleat. Idiot!