This is the time of year when the sport loses a portion of its glamor.
You can ride on a trainer indoors and stink up a room whilst flogging yourself in mind-numbing isolation. Yes, I know there are a whole new crop of diversionary tools that let you pretend your suffering is fun. A few of us still prefer our medicine to taste like medicine.
Alternatively you can get outside and muck up your bike and hope not to slide around on the wet pave’. When you have to alter the timing of your intervals until you pass the section with all of the slippery wet leaves it illustrates the desperate nature of the workingman’s Cyclocross training. My post-ride laundry is triple what it is in summer.
If there is something enjoyable about cold, wet feet I have not yet found it.
Wet or dry, this time of year the cycling fun quotient is low and the hurt factor is high. Intervals are amazingly effective so at least your pain makes you faster. With our races parsing age, gender and ability we can all dream of being the tallest dwarf in our given racing category.
Even the lowly bike commuter dons storm-worthy clothing as seen on “Deadliest catch” and plods along to and from work in the dark. This isn’t a time of year when people look at cyclists and comment, “That looks like fun.”
Only the dedicated need apply.
I love this time of year.