The Last Century

• Like most long-time cyclists, I started out riding for fun. Before long, I rode for a place on the team. And later, for money. I certainly wasn't good enough to ride for fame, so eventually I slid back down the mountain and was riding for position. And like many former racers, I really couldn't fathom how to ride for fun again, so I quit altogether. Picking it up again over the past few years, it's certainly been fun. But as any Chicagoan knows, it's sometimes difficult to find the fun in winter riding. And so this year, I gave myself a few private objectives, and one of those was to finish a winter century. And doesn't that sound like a lot of fun?

  The ice arrived a little late this year, but it came with a vengeance in recent weeks. Having not ventured south since mid-autumn, I was concerned about the road conditions, as northern Indiana is prone to flooding, epic potholes, and worse. Watching the wavering forecast all week, I settled on the 25th as the ideal day for my winter century. The roads would be relatively free of cars. We would be kind of between, rather than in the middle of, a couple of ice storms. And it would be my first day off in six weeks.

  I chose to ride the fixed gear, if only to reduce the odds of a mechanical failure. On Christmas Eve, I mended a broken spoke, washed the entire bike, added a pair of Bar Mitts, and degreased the drivetrain. A friend recently turned me on to a new chain lubrication method, so I figured I'd give it a go. After a proper stripping, I hand dried the chain, and took a small blow torch to the surface, eliminating every last molecule of water from the surface and inner workings. Once the chain cooled a bit, I applied a thin uniform layer of Boeshield T9, and then let it set over night. In the morning, I'd add a top coat of Phil Wood Tenacious Oil for extra weather proofing.

  With twelve hours to go, the forecast was for temperatures hovering just above freezing, 45km/hr winds, and a driving, freezing rain.

  Up all night working, I checked the forecast every couple of hours, but it seemed to be fairly consistent. A storm would be heading north towards Chicago in the later afternoon, but I hoped to me returning well before it brought any real pain. But hedging bets, I decided to bring along an Ortlieb submersibly waterproof messenger bag filled with clothing spares and extra gloves, just in case of emergency. I tossed in a few holiday-themed Clif bars, a 15mm wrench, and a camera, for good measure.

  Friday morning. Loaded up on Café Bustelo and cereal, I prepared for the worst. Layer One: CRAFT ProZero Extreme Gore Tex sort sleeve base layer, CRAFT Gunde shorts, bare calves (slathered in Mad Alchemy), CRAFT thermal running gloves, DeFeet Woolie Boolie socks. Layer Two: IBEX/TATI short sleeve team merino wool jersey, IBEX wool knickers, Gator Icelander neoprene socks. Layer Three: IBEX/TATI soft shell jacket. I shoved a wool winter cap, a pair of CRAFT Tempest gloves, and a pair of neoprene booties in the Ortlieb.

  The ride out to Schererville was surprisingly pleasant. Despite a mild headwind and a noticeable lack of young charges to draft, I made decent time into Indiana. However, this being Christmas morning, the residential neighborhoods of South Shore were rather difficult to traverse. Luxurious aromas ranging from tamales to fruit pies to barbecue wafted into the street, briefly making it a struggle to tarry on. I promised myself a quick detour up 95th Street on the way home and, if perchance Calumet Fish happened to be open, a double order to be coming home to Hyde Park.

  Two hours into the ride, I was surprised and pleased that the weather seemed to have stabilized, allowing for a comfortable and safe journey. The roads were entirely clear of snow and ice, having been washed away by the slow and steady rain that had been coming down for the past hour. My jacket's outer layer became saturated, but things were still toasty under the wool. Only the tree-covered bike paths were slightly sketchy. Ten degrees cooler, and these paths would prove treacherous -- but for the moment, everything was great: the high pressure 28c tires were happily plowing through the slush and slop. On the occasion where the ice hadn't melted, I'd crunch right through it, breaking through to the asphalt.

  There weren't too many animals out for the day, although a family of deer were taken aback by my approach just outside of Hobart. The little one stopped and stared at me for a moment -- but not long enough for me to retrieve the camera, unfortunately. Some squirrels were doing some last minute shopping, and there were some ducks hanging out in some ponds further south, but that was about it.

  And then the sky grew dark.

  I knew this wasn't a very good sign, as noon hadn't even arrived. The fog grew gradually thicker, and although I might have imagined it, it felt as if the temperature dropped several degrees. Instead of stopping at the mid-point, I opted for an on-the-bike brunch consisting of a gingerbread Clif bar chased by a couple of margarita-flavored Clif Shots. And they did, in fact, seem delicious at the time.

  The sky certainly was getting darker, but more noticeable was the wind out of the south. I suppose the timing couldn't have been better, because I was able to soft pedal at 120rpm for the next ninety minutes. Unfortunately, I began to notice my feet, calves, and hands going numb. In fact, my calves had been numb for a while, and were now entering the stinging phase.

  "Come on, Mad Alchemy: Do you job!" I said out loud.

  As for my feet, it was my own stupidity that was the cause of the suffering. By not wearing tights, I'd provided easy access to the inside of the neoprene socks... water was streaming down my entire body, picking up bits of embrocation at the calves, and puddling at my ankles and toes. The hands were another story. Bar Mitts work wonders, eliminating the need for bulky (and often ineffective) thermal winter gloves by warding off nasty headwinds and oncoming precipitation. The problem is that if you're being chased by a storm that's faster than you, the rain (and ice, and cold) is going to join your hands in the Mitts' rearward-facing void.

  And so the final ninety minutes of my Christmas century were pretty rough, though not rough enough to ever merit a call for help. I did stop at Calumet Fish (closed) to change out of some wet clothes. This would have been a good thing, except that my hands were so far gone, that it took much longer than it should have, as I was virtually incapable of handling zippers or buckles. Closing my helmet's chin strap took so long that I considered riding home with it unclipped. And as a result, my core temperature took a nose dive.

  Riding through a mostly-empty South Shore, I shivered and shook, and began mumbling to myself. It's a good thing this bike is a fixed gear, I thought to myself, because with my hands turning into non-functional claws, there was no way I'd be able to shift or brake even if I wanted to. As I rode past the golf course and back onto the path, I was surprised to find a clutch of joggers heading south. For a moment I thought they were running in place, but it was simply that their headwind was so great that it only seemed that way. The waves were big and violent at 57th Street Beach.

  It was only early afternoon, but Hyde Park was dark and quiet. The rain had stopped, and it seemed as if the storm would bring ice and snow soon. I shook my head at my numb extremities and hoped for a recovery by Sunday. Ice Cross in two days? The body says no, but the mind says YES, YES, YES!

  
  Parked outside of Calumet Fish, a little hypothermic, and a lot sad.