The Winter Rider

I cycle to work. As much as I can, anyway. The hardest part is getting the motivation in the morning to step outside in my commuting clobber and get going, but sometimes there is no choice (there is only one car in our family, and it is often needed by my girlfriend). It is only 6 miles each way, half what I used to do before I changed employer, and sometimes I feel like it isn't enough. But it isn't just the distance.

This morning it was 0&8451;. Tuesday it was -2&8451;. It is also still dark in the morning when I set off, and if it has been raining then there will likely be ice, and if I am lucky, grit. These are the sorts of things that plague my barely conscious mind as I contemplate getting dressed into an Under Armour base layer top and Garneau MB padded shorts.

The room is dark; the only source of dull light is from a few gadgets emanating a cool glow from their power indicators. I know where everything is that I need, or at least I should if I had the presence of mind to prepare my gear the night before. This time I had, so there is a small pile of clothes on the floor by the cold radiator. I reach down, selecting garments in the right order by the feel of the fabric. Even as I pull the body-hugging clothes on, I can feel a negative part of my mind wandering to the conditions outside, and immediately wandering back to tell me not to do it. Persistence prevails, and I find myself dressed and making my way downstairs with my backpack.

I switch on the light in the kitchen. I'm not going in there just yet, but the light is too bright for my unadjusted eyes so I let it pool in the doorway to the dining room where I am making my final preparations. I finish packing my bag - it already contains the clothes I need to change into at work, so I only need to grab my lunch. I travel light if I can help it. At this point I am accustomed to the light, so after getting my trainers on, I quickly retrieve my cycling jacket and get the rest of my protective gear on. I am fully dressed now, and the moment has arrived with sudden agony: I have to go outside.

My bike is locked in the garage. I open the kitchen door to a white and windy world outside, and switch off the light. Stepping out requires more than just a little effort, as that nagging brain part has returned, vehemently denying the worth of my venture. I lock the door behind me, and make my way to the garage, the icy breeze of the early morning caressing my flesh and finding all gaps in my armour to whistle through. It isn't far to the garage, but it is far enough. This is probably the first time that I have been fully awake.

Getting the bike out of the garage and ready to go is clockwork, which is fortunate as I am very aware that my body temperature is dropping. I am now looking forward to riding, getting my legs pumping and warming my blood. I get all of my lights switched on - visibility is as important as having wheels - and set off the app that records my journey.

Cycling on the road can be terrifying. Cars, trucks and motorbikes are loud, fast and can definitely ruin your day. The realisation of just how fragile the human body is hits you when a lorry comes thundering past. Cyclists are insignificant on the road, according to many motorists, which makes navigating the highways a daunting task. Fortunately there are fewer cars on the road before sunrise, so my outbound journey has less risk.

It isn't long before I am climbing a small but significant enough incline. My heart rate increases, and I have to force myself to breath the cold air deep through my nose. I can hear my muffled breathing through my headgear, chastising my weak and unfit body.

There are moments throughout my journey when I reconsider it all. Steep gradients, black ice, angry motorists. Yet in 18 months of cycling, I have covered 3299 miles, and climbed more than 100,000 feet.