This was a ride I did in February this year. I didn't get round to writing it up at the time, because to be honest, I felt a bit foolish. So this is an expansion of the notes I wrote for myself afterwards.
The intention was an early season start to build up to a 600 audax later in the year. So 200km or thereabouts setting off from home (near Cambridge) to minimise faffage. I had the dates for my rides entered into the family calendar all up front to keep things harmonious, so was happy to take pot luck with the weather. I had my marathon winters, and I wasn't going to try and stick to audax time limits if the weather was bad, so should stay sensible.
Got to the day and external thermometer says it's a bit cold. -12.7C cold. Bah, it's just because of this freezing fog layer. I've done plenty of sub-zero commutes recently. It'll burn off soon enough.
Local weather graph lest you think my thermometer is a touch fanciful. No time like the present, so off I went. I'll warm up soon enough, lots of clothes and put a bit of effort in. Sure enough I'm soon sweating, and stop to take off the balaclava and inner gloves. The gloves are kind of damp and unpleasant by that point anyway. Took a picture of myself:
Right, off again. Heading North from home, the planned loop was a visit to the coast. North to the wash, potter along it, and home by different roads. Gives me a sense of purpose: a visit to the seaside. The frost on everything is making it downright pretty before I even get there. Possibly makes the bike a bit heaver tho'. The freezing fog (which doesn't seem to have burnt off yet) is coating the leading edge of everything with ice (yes, including the spokes):
My feet didn't quite warm up when the body did, but as I get going again they seem to be getting a bit less painful. I wriggle the toes and they seem alright. The recumbent seems to contribute to this, with full force of the cold wind both on the shoes and sucking heat out through the metal cleat. I've tried extra socks and/or insole, but it just ends up colder because it constricts my feet more. Not buying new SPD shoes for a few days in the winter.
Kept going, on approach to Sutton Bridge I stopped for a snack. Lovely spot - photo below. That is solid ice all over the road, yes.
Soon into the supermarket for a resupply. It all gets a bit fiddly as I try and lock up the bike, take the bag off and head inside without taking gloves off for too long. Lovely and warm inside, though I don't quite warm up fully in the heaters.
When I set off I had cunningly anticipated that the camelbak was not for today. I don't have one of those insulated pipe thingies, so the pipe was sure to freeze up. Two bottles instead, and keep one inside the rackbag. Drink the other one first before it freezes up, that was the plan. Since the plan didn't work and the external one was freezing up, I hatched the cunning plan B to buy irn bru at the shop and add it to reduce the freezing point. Hence melting the lot and cunningly getting to drink irn bru which mrs_e won't buy normally. Didn't work; the bru stayed liquid but the frozen slushy lump in the bottom remained solid all the way until I got home.
I stuff a few hot cross buns and assorted tasty junk into my mouth in the car park while realising I need to get moving again. As I'm setting off I decide the day feels like a very cold game of chess. Continually having to balance pedalling effort, warmth (particularly feet, but also body and hands), energy and fluids. Windchill as soon as I start moving nudges me to try a new move, holding lower gears for a few minutes and over-revving to maximise warmth generation over windchill. But that just takes longer to get there. Once you get going, slowing down briefly cuts the wind, but you know it cuts the heat generation too.
As I head along the coastal area now it's gorgeous. The roads are empty. Everything is white. No snow, but a covering of frost like some kind of winter postcard. Overhanging trees which drop pretend snow clouds when the wind catches them. Maybe half the total road area round here is covered in compressed sheets of ice/snow. Marathon winters working great - slow down a touch to be sensible, but never really put a stud wrong. Not fancing a walk out to the proper seaside, I only really see the sea alongside one of the river channels heading out. There is a pretty lighthouse in sight soon after the shop, which I thought would make a lovely photo. I didn't stop to take it.
The sea is somewhere over there:
On the way South again, my fish and chip shop located on streetview was unfortunately shut for the afternoon when I got there. I had my heart set on that for half the day. Phooey. Stopped at a shop for more junk food instead. There is a pub next to the shop, but I don't want to be too late home and it probably isn't wise to push more of the ride into the dark than I need to, so I ignore it.
Heading South:
The shopkeeper asked where I was biking from and seemed surprised I said near Cambridge (only about 40 miles away at this point!). Even more surprised I had done it on my own! I'm a grown up, me; out on my own! I couldn't bear to tell him I hadn't come directly from Cambridge. Then a rather strange experience eating my goodies as a large 4x4 sat there with the inhabitants watching me the whole time. Apparently one of the little girls in the back of car was intrigued by my bike and wanted to see how it worked as I set off.
Lovely coloured sunset to the right as I crossed more pan-flat fenland, but then patches of freezing fog are re-appearing as it got colder and colder. Difficult to keep up speed. Not exactly sure why, but the muscles just don't want to go. Going up a short rise somewhere, the front dérailleur refused to drop to bottom ring. I just pressed harder rather than stopping to mess about. It worked fine when I looked at it the next day.
Once properly dark, I realised I needed to put the inner gloves back on again. Fumbled them out of the bag to discover they had frozen into a twisted block of sweat and fabric. I smashed them out a bit so they flexed, and forced them on. A bit chilly initially.
Last section from St Ives along the busway track, and discover it is actually beautifully salted. They must have some kind of special machine for the job, because there is a neatly cleared path along. Apart from over the viaduct, which was compacted ice. Presumably to save the metal structure underneath from salt. Don't bother me.
It was -8C on the thermometer when I got back. It was definitely warmer in the middle of day, but the first and last couple of hours were bloody cold. I got in the shower and realised my feet were a bit purple for my liking. And hurt like a hurty thing in the hot water.
Next day it seems the feet still aren't quite right. Mixture of tingliness and numbness. Just what you get for getting a bit too cold, I suppose. Over the next few days it becomes apparent that it isn't quite that trivial. Mostly numbness, bit of tingly. Just generally not very accurate sensations from the bottom of my feet. I start internetting, but I can't really have frostbite, jeez it was only a bike ride. No, I can't, but apparently the milder version is called frostnip. So how long does that take to get better? Uh? Get better? Not entirely clear that it does get better, apparently. Wha? Nerves must heal themselves.
A few weeks later, the feet are still exactly the same. Nerves had not just healed themselves.
It took two or three months for my feet to feel normal again. Rather nervous months. I didn't really tell anybody - sure I said they were a bit funny straight afterwards, but I didn't want to admit quite what I might have done to myself. My feet feel perfectly normal again now. I heartily recommend not fucking about if your extremities are getting a bit too cold in icy weather.
Other than not being adequately clothed for the conditions, this was actually a good ride. Covered 188km, rolling average 21kph, total time ~10.5 hours. Those tyres can do the job. Winter is pretty. I'm maybe a bit of a fool.
Apologies for the cameraphone pictures.
