Choices

Nervous energy, due to snipers, concerns for the economy, a general malaise of the general population. War looms, all is in question. No easy answers to difficult questions. Clarity is sought in a choice to make a right turn – to simply head to Boulder on a 13 degree morning after some 12 – 15 inches of snow. Looking at the thermometer last night and being resolved to ride regardless of temperature helped to at least feign a sense of grounding – literally – through the simple repetition of getting on my bike and riding to work.

The snow has piled, the time has changed – and there is a sense of that general lockdown that this part of the year provides. It is dark – at 5pm. Really dark. I wake up dreaming of large cold stouts, and warm fires and immense hardback books that draw you in and play out other realities. There is a sense of compression that is hard to avoid as the daylight becomes sparse, the darkness literally squeezing the light out of the day. Can it be so simple that making things a little harder – going against the grain of the easy way in (actually four times removed – way one would be the car; way two – the car to the bus – way three the bike to the bus – way 4 – ride "all the way to Boulder" as Marcus has threatened to do over the years.) I always have little arguments in my head as I crest Lazy Z and have the choice of Bus or descend the hill. Over the years I have learned that regardless of attitude, layering, whatever – that riding down Magnolia to Boulder is basically not worth it, or essentially becomes unpleasant at about 15 degrees. Add to that snow, ice, some really bad road conditions – it becomes a poor choice. Between the sliding cars down the 3,000 some odd foot descent, the ice under the snow, and the 3 miles one must pass in Boulder canyon after the descent of mag – it tends to be better to just head to the bus and seek shelter for the descent. On this fine Halloween day, I turn right – needing more time outside and some grounding. Poor choice Weedhopper.

Magnolia is fine, and actually pleasant. The thermometer has reached a balmy 24 degrees in the sun, and I am overdressed. The surface of the road is crunchy with a pretty good bite. There are some moments of glide, but basically control is pretty sweet and I feel comfortable. I have to constantly scream at myself internally to slow down, relax, and just take it in. This is my down time for the day, and the day promises to be pretty stressful and intense at the office. The ‘CRANK’ coffee, mainlined to my veins from Leadville has other plans, and I constantly find myself anaerobic and sweating. Slow down, relax, enjoy the crunch of tires on snow, and the clarity and absolute silence of the cold. Not many riders out here today – and no tracks – wonder why!

I suit up at the top of Mag, and as I take off my base layer wool cap – I am again struck by the silence. There is no noise, no wind, it’s amazingly peaceful and welcome. The ‘static’ of the world (see Sniper; Busch; War; Stock Market, etc.) is silenced. This is invaluable. This is becoming harder to achieve as my fate becomes more closely tied to the ‘real’ world. This is a trend I would like to reverse.

Mag is – um – slick. I test the brakes and the tires and there is some serious slippage, but as long as I stay near the shoulder there seems to be some under layer of dirt that I am hitting at least some of the time. There is moderate control. The cars are scary as they bear down and I wonder how good their tires are, their ability to control their descent, and their ability to avoid a lone single-speeder. It’s not too cold, but I can see the inversion below. Experience tells me that it will get a lot colder. I am right.

I hit the upper edge of the fog, and it gets dark. I watch the thermometer on my handlebars drop from 24 to 17 in a matter of moments. The next time I look the 7 has turned to a 1. So, I don’t know how to calculate wind-chill – but 11 degrees, moist fog, I am assuming it’s pretty damn cold. A few more moments and I know I am on the clock – i.e. – too much time descending and I will be hypothermic. I can feel the heat evaporating off my body, and the cold penetrating 4 layers: Base layer; Long sleeve wool jersey; wool sweater and exterior bomber jacket. I am swapping fingers periodically as the tips are going numb in an alarming fashion that is way too rapid. Note to self: create some kind of rubber sheathing for brake levers. At mile 1 I pull over, start jumping jacks, push ups, anything to build some heat. It works, and it feels actually pleasant out when I am not being drained by the wind while sliding down the road. The last mile of Mag cruises by with little incident other than motorists staring out the window and giving me looks of "Poor guy doesn’t have a car". I gaze back with "I have two perfectly good cars – just don’t really care to use them that much….". There is a connection in our gazes that say we will never understand the beliefs behind the choices that we each made that morning and many others. This sits just fine with me.

The canyon – is grim. It’s darker, more fog, a little wet on the road and there is no shoulder to speak of. I try to hug the edge of the road and crash twice, almost falling into the road as cars wail by a few feet to my left at very high speeds. I almost turn around to wait for the bus for the last three miles, but move into the road and hope for the best as far as understanding motorists who don’t want to have to clean a biker off their grills. There is a lapse in motor vehicle traffic for almost two miles that I am unbelievably grateful for. My conversation with God goes something like this: "Just let me get to the creek path and I will not do something this stupid for at least a few weeks". God lets me through. I make the path, and it’s over a foot deep. I pull over to the side for a pee, and feel genuinely grateful for being here in one piece. I do not feel extreme, or hardcore. I feel a little lucky, and a lot stupid for under estimating the narrow nature of the canyon so soon after a major snowfall. Some lessons we never learn.

I heat up quickly on the bike path, fighting the frozen slushy footprints that lay under almost a foot of snow. I tip multiple times but there are no cars or railings, or things to slam onto. I am basically home free. Just below elephant rocks I see Nirvana – they have plowed the path and I can coast, unfettered to the coffee shop.

Digger smiles as I walk into Sydney’s Cafe – "You didn’t ride today – it’s like 10 degrees out". As he cranks up a double mocha and a bagel, he leans over the counter at my space suit like appearance and slowly thawing face. "Dave, we all have choices….everyday – why the hell would you ride on a day like this".

Choices – exactly. Everyday. I hope I have the tenacity, stupidity, vision, lack of brain cells – whatever it takes to keep making the right ones.