It occurred to me as I pedaled off to do my usual Tuesday night SS loop that most sane folks are not doing this right now. It was in the low 50s, but the stiff breeze made it more like the low 40s. It was getting dark, and the cold wind out of the north was blowing tumbleweeds across the road like some old Karloff movie, the one where the werewolf meets Dracula.
I thought about this for a while, the absurdity of dressing up like this, long sleeve jersey, long baggy shell over knickers, wool socks, and leaving a nice, warm house to sweat aboard the single speed stairmaster from hell.
I checked my headlight to make sure I had a few candlepower to wash away the bogey man and turned toward a decision point. It was blowing harder now and the wind made riding a straight line down the road difficult. I was approaching a T in the road. I normally turn left up a wide canyon for a few miles and then turn right and begin the climb. A cold blast of wind had me dodging another tumbleweed while I considered turning right at the T, looking for a sheltered and much shorter ride. It made a lot of sense, you know. No one to argue with me.
Spinning my squirrel gear, I approached the T, rose out of the saddle, and turned left into the wind toward my normal route. The wind hit me full in the face, the face with a big grin on it. I reached up, turned on my headlight to ward off the werewolves, and pedaled on. No compromise for the crazy.
"Please don't let me die."
2 months ago