The Hardening

The conversation went something like this:

Don: Coffee ride?
Jay: Time?
Don: 10
Jay: 11?
Don: Cool

Just like that, we'd committed ourselves to riding to Princeton, 30 miles each way. A decent early-season ride, perfect for the long, slow, steady base miles demanded by this time of year.

It was cold, but not too cold, and the forecast didn't call for precipitation until after our return. Throw on some leg warmers, some wool socks and booties to keep my little piggies warm, add gloves and a head band, and voila! Time for some base.

About 45 minutes into the ride, the sky darkened noticeably. For a moment, I worried that we would be stuck on the roads after sunset, having forgotten that it was only noon. This was on Canal Rd, not yet at First Bridge.

The dark, looming clouds weren't just for show. We'd hoped they would signify nothing, but they were full of sound and fury. A few snowflakes floated down en route to Second Bridge. By Third Bridge, it was coming down relentlessly. We'd been forced to take our glasses off, with fog and ice opaque-ifying the lenses, but that only allowed the snow to sting the eyeballs most unmerciful.

The descents, blessedly short, were not fun. Simultaneously, though, they were actually a lot of fun. Odd how that works.

Jay's "clear" lenses, and the ice in his helmet's vents.

The snowflakes were large and sticky - if enough had landed, it would've been perfect for snowman-building - but the asphalt was just warm enough to prevent accumulation. Apparently, the same could not be said of my groin. The nook, or cranny if you prefer, formed by my thighs and torso was covered in a disturbing amount of snow. There was a thick layer of snow encasing my bad-touch bits.

I've spent an inordinate amount of time coming up with phrases that might describe this phenomenon. Here's what I've got:

• Frosted Naughty Parts
• Crotch-cicles
• Snow Balls

Please feel free to contribute to this list in the comments section.

Upon our arrival at the Small World coffee shop (the farther Small World franchise, which has more indoor seating), we were pleased to find Brian, a Rutgers Cycling alum. Neither of us knew he'd moved to Princeton, and it was an unlikely, pleasant coincidence to see him at the coffee shop. The irony of the circumstances, given the name of the coffee shop, was not lost to us.

They were serving coffees in pint glasses for some reason. My Americano looked like a stout, but it warmed my hands nicely.

In another coincidence, we sat down next to someone who turned out to be a friend of Jay's. He would later note that it's one thing to tell someone "I ride a bike"; it's an entirely different thing to appear at a coffee shop 30 miles from home in the middle of a blizzard. It makes you look like a total badass, or like a lunatic, depending on who that someone is.

With just a few sips of warm, caffeinated goodness remaining in our glasses, Brian asked if we'd mind if he joined us for the rest of the ride. Of course we wouldn't! Not only would the additional company be nice (not to mention the additional time I could spend in the draft), but waiting for him to prepare for the ride would delay our inevitable return to the snowstorm.

I never leave myself less than 45 minutes to get ready for a ride. Brian returned to Small World within 10 minutes. That bastard.

So we creaked out of our chairs and got back on our bikes, soggy chamois squelching against saddles. The snow stopped just as we left Princeton, and in its place we were treated to gusty winds. At times, we leaned precariously into the side-wind, just to stay balanced and ride straight. Sometimes the wind caught me by surprise, and I would just barely keep my wheels off the curb.

In what has become a wintertime tradition, I got a nosebleed. It's the most wonderful time of the year.

Most team sports have positions - forward, midfielder, pitcher, for example - and cycling does as well - climber, sprinter, roleur. It's less formal in cycling, but each rider has his speciality, and a good coach will strategize accordingly. Many sports also have designations for certain team members that is unofficial but real - "goons" or "enforcers"; cycling has "hardmen".

Hardmen thrive in the cold and wet, they prefer cobbles to pavement. Hardmen excel in the conditions that make other riders question their choice of profession.

Me, I'm not a hardman. I do not do well in the cold. However, just like hockey's technicians learn to take hits, cyclists like me need to learn to ride in adverse conditions. No, Jay and I didn't choose to ride in this ridiculous weather, nor were we particularly pleased to be surprised by it. At the end of the day, though, I think we were a little harder for having survived it.