On the one hand you need to look as cool and sporty as possible but at the same time make contingencies on the clothing front for every eventuality of British weather that may befall within the matter of a few minutes.
That was certainly the case yesterday when the characteristics of all four seasons descended during the second major cycle ride of the year.
The first mile or so, on the byways through the old railway courses of the City, was in bright sunshine, suspiciously so for what was still the early part of Spring.
I felt a bit overdressed in what I call my 'Precious Mckenzie' all in one lycra bib suit and leggings (as styled by the Olympic Power Lifting Champion that I recall from the 1970's), three upper layers and a team issue gilet with all of the old sponsors logos from about 1995.
The combination of a fast pace borne out of enthusiasm and that feeling of well being that comes from exercising in the open air meant that I had quite a sweat on. It was however possible to balance out the perspiration with the flow of air through the multiple layers and I felt reasonably comfortable. The shelter afforded to the cycle path through the corridor of tightly packed terraced housing and the fence panels at the bottom of adjoining gardens kept any potential hindrance from wind at a minimum although I could see a few Cross of St George Flags rippling and cracking on their flagstaffs in what, beyond my route, was a veritable gale blowing.
The spring turned summer ended for me as the track left the built up suburbs. Into the full face of the wind I felt as though I had, over a few short feet, crossed into the inhospitable climate of an autumn day. I was now feeling the chill but resisted stopping to retrieve my windproof jacket which was tightly compressed in my backpack amongst the spare inner tubes, repair and tool kits, energy gel sachets and my lucky Ordnance Survey Map.
If I just kept going I should be able to progress until my route took me off the collision course with the stiff north-easterly in a sort of tacking movement. That sensation of not battling the wind as soon as I turned west was a mighty relief and it was possible to catch my breath and restore a bit of composure to my forward motion. I had a quick swig of water from the bottle clamped in a cage on the seat tube and felt totally refreshed. It was not as hot as in the previous hour and therefore felt more like the spring day that I had expected.
The following few miles on country roads were gently undulating amongst clumps of wild daffodils that would likely as not disappear in the run up to Mothering Sunday. There was little traffic about which was an unexpected bonus as usually it was a case of having to concentrate for the sound of speeding cars hidden by blind bends or careering along behind until a last minute slowing down or a near miss as they attempted to squeeze by without wanting to dirty their tyres by mounting the shallow, wide and amenable verge.
I reached the junction with the busy coast road and crossed over onto the new tarmac cycle path. I do not mind riding in traffic but there is something to be recommended for fully separating two and four wheeled vehicles and I was able to bowl along quite happily towards the ring road of the big market town.
Ominously the attractive blue sky was darkening farther west in the direction that I had planned and a few approaching cars, with headlights on, hinted that I would soon be back in wintry conditions.
The rain began in a few probing droplets, taunting and teasing me to stop and put on that jacket but I resisted and pedalled on. It was a foolish choice. Within a couple of minutes the air temperature had dropped a few degrees and I was enveloped in an almost twilight aura as the resurgent wind brought with it a thick low cloud of biting rain and sleet. There is a point where clothes and skin are so saturated that it would not be of any benefit to put on a rainproof layer. The damage had already been done.
I thought about taking shelter in a bus stop or under the overhang of a building but surprise, surprise no such refuge was in sight. Riding with, rather than against. the tidal wave of weather seemed the only option but it would inevitably add a couple of extra miles to my ride at a time when my energy reserves were being quickly depleted.
The enforced detour took me on a meandering route through the streets of the town and gave some respite from the bitter wet. As rapidly as the storm had hit it diminished and I was able to resume the original westerly journey.
Outside the small shop in the next settlement I stocked up with a bottle of glucose infused liquid washing down the gloopy mass of chocolate, caramel and peanuts of a Snickers bar. I now felt a bit poorly from stuffing my face but knew that I would benefit from the sugar kick in the next thirty minutes or so.
The rain started up again. It was time to get out the jacket not so much to keep me dry anymore but for the flourescent high-viz to give me a bit of visual presence to other road users as the murky light drew in.
The brief refuelling stop had caused my limbs to stiffen up and I made a few unsightly stretches and lunges on the public pavement in front of the Post Office and using the hand rail on the ramp access to keep balance.
Leaving behind the village I was completely exposed to the elements and more so in making across field and rough tracks.
The rain turned from liquid to icy solid as the weather system closed in on me. Hard frozen hail stones sand blasted the right side of my face as they pelted horizontally in the resumed gale force winds. It was painful on the first impact followed by just plain uncomfortable as melted ice ran down my neck. My 'Precious McKenzie' leggings drooped around the sodden groin area and every rotation on the pedals put more of the saturated lycra against my skin. It was a most unpleasant experience. The depths of winter had arrived to complete the four seasons in one day, or in the space of just an afternoon.
The coldness and chill persisted for the next hour of riding. The spray from the road had caused the front tyre to throw streaky muddy stains on my face. The same effect from the back tyre in the absence of mudguards left a go fast stripe of black grime on the broad lurid yellow of my waterproof.
By the time I reached the city after that tiring 60 minutes of continuous damp riding the sky had cleared to bright blue once again. Pedestrians emerging to sun worship in shorts and 'T' shirts grimaced at what appeared to be a coal miner returning on his bike from a long shift at the pit face. I was just happy to be close to home. After the initial expressions of fear at the ghoulish riding figure People began to smile in my direction.I think now that it was just their reaction to my dazzlingly accentuated pearly white teeth and their fond recollections of watching the Black and White Minstrel Show in their younger days.
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