Ed and I had decided that we'd go on a bike ride if Saturday's weather was good. Ed was very excited about this and practically dragged me out of bed on Saturday morning. After picking up some essentials at our nearby bike supply store, we set out around noon. The morning had been sunny, if chilly, but now it was overcast. This was my first excursion on Dale, my new road bike. I had never clipped in before, and so navigating the new pedals during mounts and dismounts was tough, particularly taking traffic into account. Luckily, there were only a few blocks between us and a dedicated bike path, and I made it there unscathed, if very jumpy. We rode slowly along the bike path. My fingers were cold and the brakes seemed tough to reach, so I was very nervous about getting going too fast for fear I wouldn't be able to stop quickly. The wheels were so thin that every slight move of the handlebars produced and alarming wobble. I remember thinking that it had been silly to bring a water bottle because I wouldn't have the coordination to retrieve it from its spot in the bracket in a million years. I kept having to tell myself to release my death grip on the handlebars, as my hands and arms were exhausted within minutes due to tightly clenched muscles. But we rode without incident, if slowly, to the turnoff for Central Park. Here is where things got sticky.
To get to the park from the path, we had to ride up a small hill, then along busy 72nd Street. I couldn't remember which gear shifters made things easier vs. harder, so I had to experiment a bit going up the hill and, of course, got it wrong the first time. Experimentation was compounded by the fact that the fingers of Ed's gloves extended about an inch past my own fingertips and kept getting stuck in the shifters. I panicked, lost velocity, nearly rode into a bed of ivy and started to tip. Twisting one's foot is the way to get it out of a clip pedal, and by pure accident this move happened to be my instinct as I was falling. So I managed to sort of catch myself about halfway down instead of landing on the pavement. I walked the bike up the rest of the hill, feeling shaken. This feeling escalated as we rode onto 72nd. Suddenly, we were dodging cars, dogs, pedestrians, potholes, and other bikers. I felt surrounded on all sides and had visions of mowing over some poor, unsuspecting old lady because I couldn't stop in time. Ed told me to ride very close to him, and he put himself between me and traffic, but I was still petrified that someone parked on the shoulder would throw open a driver-side door and wipe me out. Right next to the park, we came to a red light and I pulled my left foot out of the pedal in preparation to set it on the pavement and promptly leaned to the right instead. Foot stuck in the right pedal, there was no way to catch myself. I crashed into a taxi and landed on the pavement. The driver and passengers were very nice and concerned about my welfare, and there was no harm done to the cab, the bike, or me. I walked the bike across the street and remounted, feeling increasingly shaky.The plan was to do a lap around the park and go back home. I was getting colder, and we started off on a series of slight downhills that felt very fast to me, unsure as I was about my brakes. The wind, something I don't typically contend with when I'm running as I'm going more slowly, was unbelievably cold. As snowflakes started to fall, it hit me that Ed and I had planned to ride if the weather was nice but had failed to confirm that this would be the case. Doh. A few minutes later, I pulled over to warm my hands, which were thoroughly numb. I couldn't stop shivering, and was actually rather pleased when I remounted my bike to see that my handlebars were pointing in a different direction from my front wheel. Easy enough to fix if one has the right tools, but we didn't, and so I was delighted when Ed said that we'd have to head to a nearby bike shop for a fix and more layers for me. Getting to the shop was harrowing, as it involved riding through more traffic, but the blast of warm air that hit me as we walked in was bliss. It stopped feeling warm after a few minutes, though, and I craved a space heater. After standing in the shop for 20 minutes, wearing a new jacket and sipping a coffee Ed had brought me, I was still shivering. My bike had been fixed, but Ed put me in a cab anyway and sent me home, finishing the ride on his own. He returned to find me in a hot bath, watching my toes change from white back to pink.
I am not completely soured on cycling, but I need to practice my mounts and dismounts a lot more before trying to ride in New York, and either buy the right clothes or else not go out again on snowy days.
In contrast to this experience, I ran a 5K on Sunday morning, then an additional 7 miles homeward. It was about 28 degrees when I started and had warmed up to 34 by the time I finished. I was pretty chilly when the race began but perfectly comfortable and happy within half a mile and then all the way home. This race is a fun one, as there are local bands playing everything from the Beatles to the blues to drum line routines situated about every quarter mile. Bundled up runners jogged around me merrily, all of us blowing out clouds of steam and cheerfully wiping watering eyes and running noses. Give me winter running any day. But as far as I'm concerned, the cyclists can have the bike lane to themselves between November and April.
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