Week Thirteen - Day Four

BIKE: Eastwood
TIME THERE: 27 min. (woo hoo!!)
TIME BACK: 31 min.
WEATHER: clear, -1C, 4km/hr wind there; light rain, 3C, 9km/hr wind back.
WHAT I WORE: yoga pants, turtleneck, waterproof shell, double gloves, scarf
NOTES:
This morning, the road conditions didn't seem quite as crazy as they did on Monday. The main roads are mostly clear now, and the scary uneven snow and ice on the side streets has mostly been compacted down into ice with only a bit of crunchy snow on top in some places. On Monday, the entire shared-use pathway along the High Level Bridge was a thick sheet of uneven ice, which made the slight hills on each side of the bridge quite treacherous. Even the flat middle part of the bridge was brutal, given the need to negotiate around other cyclists and pedestrians on such slippery terrain. Now, though, it would seem that the bridge has been largely cleared of that ice build-up and sand has been put down for added traction, making the ride down the hills feel a little less like meeting certain death.

I've found that cycling this week has been so much harder than before. I expected the arrival of snow would slow me down and make everything harder, but perhaps I didn't realize how much of a difference it would make. Or, at least, that the snow alone would make such a difference - I expected it would be a combination of snow, freezing temperatures, and high winds that would make winter commuting so hard. It turns out all I needed was the snow to feel discouraged! Now when that wintry trifecta does come into effect, as I'm sure it will sooner than later, how the hell am I going to handle that? I'm already asking myself if all this is worth it, and I'm only facing snow and ice right now.

But, boy howdy, on the way home everything got a whole lot worse. When I stepped outside I discovered it was raining. "Yay!" I thought, "All this rain is going to wash away a lot of the snow!!" I hopped on Eastwood and began cycling home, grateful for the mild weather that allowed it to rain this late in November. The traction seemed pretty good everywhere - it's true, it seemed the rain was washing away a lot of the ice and snow, and I began feeling optimistic about my biking adventures. I was making good time, I felt in control, and even despite getting increasingly water-logged I was having a really fun ride!

Until I got to Glenora. This is the expensive neighbourhood I bike through that boasts gorgeous old estate homes and wide, curvy, low-traffic roads that have made for a dreamy scenic route for me these past few months. I was sailing through this neighbourhood as I had been throughout my whole ride, but this time as I began curving slightly to the left along with the road, the tires slid out from under me, and anyone within earshot could hear the profound words "Shitty nutballs!" escaping my mouth. Eastwood and I fell to the ground, and the two of us slid to a stop a few metres from where we fell.

I was stunned. I looked around at the road to see what obvious patch of ice I managed not to see before hitting it, and found nothing but the shiny black ashphalt that was to be found everywhere else in this rainy weather. There was no obvious ice build-up anywhere, and even as I righted myself my feet slid around underneath me on ice that was so thin and transparent it could not be distinguished from the pavement. I suppose this is what they call "black ice". I should be very familiar with this as a prairie girl, but it felt as though I was seeing it for the first time.

I gingerly swung my leg back over Eastwood and slowly began pedalling again, trying carefully to maintain my balance on this misleading black ice. Even as careful as I was, it didn't take long before the road curved again and the tires gave out underneath me. I fell again, this time dislodging the plastic cover that is supposed to protect the front chainring and twisting the left hand-brake out of whack. I twisted the brake back into line, put the broken plastic ring on my handlebars, and tried to figure out how the hell to get home.

I knew I couldn't stay on that road. I already feared one finger might be broken (the middle finger on my right hand - the perfect flipping-the-bird finger, which one clearly cannot afford to lose!). What more damage would I do to myself if I kept falling? At first I tried biking in the extreme edge of the road, in the slushy rain-soaked snow, but I wasn't sure this was much better than riding on the black ice. I got off and walked the bike over to the sidewalk, found it wet but not too slippery, and proceeded to follow the sidewalk up to the nearest major road.

But wait a minute - what if the major road had black ice on it, too? At least on the side street, when I fell there was nothing around for me to fall into, no cars to hit me or run me over. On the major road, though, there were lots of cars - speeding cars. So the likelihood of falling might be lower, but the consequences of any fall were potentially much worse. What to do?

I kept to the sidewalks along the major road for a while, but these were pretty patchy with slushy snow and half-melted ice. Ultimately, I took to the major road. The traction seemed fine, but I was pretty scared the whole time. Also, I kept getting splashed by cars and being forced to ride through big puddles because I had to keep so far to the right. I got home safe and sound, sticking to the main road, but the whole rest of the ride I worried over what I would do about the ride tomorrow. Sure, it's slippery now with the rain - but what about after it's had a chance to freeze overnight? Won't everything be black ice tomorrow morning?

To be safe, I'm taking Mike tomorrow with his studded tires. And I'm riding slow. And sticking to the side streets in case I do fall. The prospect of the ride tomorrow is scaring me already, but as a psychologist and a former horseback rider I know the worst thing to do after a fall is to avoid riding again. I just have to get back up in the saddle and keep going, figuring this bike-commuting thing out one bump, bruise, and scrape at a time.

Oh, and by the way, within a half-hour I was able to bend my finger again, and now it's just the knuckle that's sore to the touch but nothing looks out of place with it. I'm able to make a fist with some discomfort, but I'm sure at worst it's just a sprain. I'm pretty lucky, I think! I've fallen four times since starting my bike-commuting challenge and I've never been hurt. Knock on wood!!

Here is an early picture of my still-developing injuries:

The darker areas are bruises, and the red areas (i.e., lower hip, inner thigh on far leg) are parts that will become bruises in the next 1-2 days. I suffer for my art!!