What’s the coldest you’ve ever been? I can think of three days in particular when the cold made me truly miserable.
One reason I moved south to the mid-Atlantic over 40 years ago was to get away from winter in the Northeast. I grew up in Albany, went to college in Boston, and then went to grad school in Providence. I can recall running in sub-0 weather in Albany when my ears froze about half way into a 2 1/2 mile cabin-fever-escape run. The cold was bad but the thawing out was worse. In Boston the cold temperatures were worsened by brutal winds. Providence isn’t as cold but that only means that the side streets become glaciers. Another of my coldest days was spent on a day trip with my girlfriend to Boston in running shoes. The streets were frozen slush. By evening my feet were screaming in pain as we rode the bus ride back to Providence. The half mile walk to my girfriend’s apartment had me in a world of hurt.
My coldest memory dates back to camping in Yellowstone National Park in 2023. My tour mates, Cory and Mark, brought sensible camping gear. I had brought my flimsy REI sleep sack (rated to 60 degrees F) and a silk sleeping bag liner that would have kept me reasonably comfortable down to about 50 degrees. Having spent a chilly night in my tent in a National Forest campground east of the Grand Tetons, I decided to buy a thin fleece blanket at the Grant Village general store. Sleek sack, liner, and fleece should keep me warm right? Not even close. Grant Village sits at 7,800 feet. That night temperatures dipped into the low 30s. Dang. I twice walked to the campground bathroom to warm up during the night. My guess is that the bathroom was about 45 degrees inside. By sunrise I has slept exactly 0 minutes and my feet were purple. There are no words to describe the relief I felt when I walked inside the heated restaurant at Yellowstone Lake.
Last Friday morning I rode 14 1/2 miles to Friday Coffee Club in DC. It was 24 degrees outside. I wore all the things and used chemical hand and toe warmers. I even broke out my over boots, which I used when I commuted to work in temperatures even lower. The first two miles were uncomfortable but I took solace in the fact that I was nowhere near as cold as Yellowstone.
I stopped to take a photo of the emerging sunrise. Even after the sun came up, the temperature barely budged.
Just before taking the picture, I passed two runners. One was wearing shorts. He had on layers on top and a ski cap and was clipping along at well under 8 miles per hour. Based on my running experience in Providence I could tell he was reasonably comfortable. To be honest I was not going much faster on my bike, the better to keep the wind chill down. A mile later I came upon the runners stopped near their cars at a parking lot. They seemed pretty happy having braved the cold for their morning miles.
I kept moving. After another couple of miles, I could see the planes flying into National Airport were landing to the North into a light wind. Ugh. About 12 1/2 miles into the ride I crossed the Potomac River on the 14th Street Bridge. Midway across the span I passed a runner. He had on a thin long-sleeved shirt under a thin t-shirt. He wore flimsy running pants and nothing on his head or neck. Insanity. Total insanity. He seemed not to care a bit about the conditions. Runners are like that.
To my surprise about ten people showed up for coffee. We are a hardy bunch.
My wife keeps reminding me not to complain. It’s January. She grew up in northern Indiana were schools close only when the wind chill is life-threatening at the school bus stop.
In a few days we will be plunged into a polar vortex, several days with highs below freezing. And, on Sunday, we expect to see our first significant snowfall of the season. Needless to say, I’ll be riding Big Nellie in the basement. Except for Sunday when I expect I’ll be putting all my recent weight lifting to use clearing the white stuff with my Wovel. It’s like a triceps press on a wheel.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 