Dreaming of longer days

Winter cycling in the Northern Hemisphere can easily be romanticised.

An early alarm coincides with the thermostat turning on, and the house thaws as the mocha pot steams.

You begin to pull on your kit. It is more performative than usual: long bibs have to meet the sock line perfectly, the neck buff sitting at the correct height, jersey zipped to the top.

Outside, the air is still, the temperature hovers above zero. Gloves and warmers weather. Front and rear light conditions. It’s peaceful on the road.

30km feels like 60km. An hour in the cafe feels like ten minutes. Steaming coffee, toasted sandwiches, and toes wriggling their way back to life, inches from the radiator.

This type of riding, in the depths of winter, feels like an inward experience, a little show of resilience during a period where you might be lucky to get ten pleasant mornings out.

For casual cyclists, each winter ride counts for double, a building block for the next year’s ambitions. Meanwhile the more serious cyclists are doubling down on the indoor trainer, matching the cadence of a Colle delle Finestre attack from the archives. Rapha’s Festive 500 did a good job at conjuring this spirit; and in doing so, exposed the fragility of family time over the seasonal break. Turns out people prefer a sense of accomplishment.

I learnt to love riding during the UK winter because I recognised it as the trough of fitness and form. But a little effort up the local climb on December 23rd, and I could be dancing on the pedals by March.

I also began to see winter as a vital period of dreaming, looking ahead to the seasons changing, planning routes for when spring breaks, or summer has begun to unravel itself across the long days. With each passing year, I’ve considered this habit more and more healthy, not a painful ache to relocate, but a chance to feel excitement about new journeys.

When you’re dreaming during winter, memories flood back of long, difficult and beautiful days on the bike. April is for an extended weekend across the British countryside, stamping a brevet card in a poorly lit village hall. May is for venturing onto the continent, a ferry across the channel, the Alps in the distance. The climax comes in summer: jersey unzipped, tapping across the French countryside, a weightless sense of progress.

But winter is for scoping out new places, pulling out a 1:25,000 map, and asking questions. Perhaps this is the year to set off from my front door? Hug the coastline and point for Copenhagen? or aim for Prague, Gdansk, or Riga?

And it seems I’m not the only one who sees it that way.

So, it is December now. There is still quite some time until the first snowdrops blossom and the roads are ice free.

Tinker and plot away. Open up that AudaxUK calendar, scout the French fail system for bike friendly carriages, look forward to that cold lager at the end of a memorable day on the bike.

Cycling is interwoven with the seasons, and seasons change. Soon come.