Reality is always an unpleasant surprise; no one wants to see ourselves the way others see us, and that’s for good reason, too: depression would be much more widespread problem if each of us realized what a pain in the ass we are. Speaking of unpleasant realities, after recently reviewing videos of myself speaking, I have deduced that I have the face for radio, the hand gesticulations for both Mime and Cheerleading (neither for which I have an ambition), and the voice for print. That leaves me with the Internet.

A long commute to work in darkness is a surreal experience. The early hour leaves the road vacant, and the rider is confined to the small cone of light beyond which exists only blackness. The mind settles into the vampire state of wandering a being alert all at once. Thoughts of the day’s work will lay somewhere on the periphery; not front of mind, yet inexorably nearer with every stroke of the pedals. The rain and cold amplify the effect.

Strange thoughts are thought in this state, not unlike those you might have just as you catch yourself falling asleep. The first paragraph of this article is a fine example of such a thought. For this, I ask your forgiveness.

The commute presents its own challenge, new obstacles to overcome. The wet winter commute sandwiches the workday like two soggy slices of bread. One finds very quickly that it is not the cold, the dark or the wet that is unpleasant; it is the sodden kit hanging in a locker all day not getting fresher that is unpleasant.

This morning looked dry from the bedroom window, a terrible place from which to judge the weather. Rain was in the forecast (this is Seattle and January, after all), so I slipped into my Gabba jersey as easily as James Bond slips into a dinner jacket. I stepped outside and noted that it would be nice if the weather stayed dry for the ride in so the kit might be more pleasant when dressing for the evening’s ride home.

I should know better than to think such thoughts; the rain was summoned immediately by the Nine Gods to remind me that the Glory of Rule #9 is not chosen at the rider’s convenience or whim. Fool.

Riding with a backpack is a nuisance. As Velominati, we have refined our position and learned to control the bike through micro-movements and immeasurable shifts of body weight. The gear-loaded backpack is a sledgehammer to our china cup of balance. Our position feels off, the bike handles differently, and we are heavier by two kilos at least. This, along with every other reason you can think of why backpacks suck, is more than enough to encourage one to avoid the climbs, especially the steep ones.

But there is a beauty behind the nuisance: climbing with a heavy load is like training in a fat suit. Seek out the hardest climbs and the next time you ride without a pack, you will feel as though you were given wings. Instant morale.

frank

The founder of Velominati and curator of The Rules, Frank was born in the Dutch colonies of Minnesota. His boundless physical talents are carefully canceled out by his equally boundless enthusiasm for drinking. Coffee, beer, wine, if it’s in a container, he will enjoy it, a lot of it. He currently lives in Seattle. He loves riding in the rain and scheduling visits with the Man with the Hammer just to be reminded of the privilege it is to feel completely depleted. He holds down a technology job the description of which no-one really understands and his interests outside of Cycling and drinking are Cycling and drinking. As devoted aesthete, the only thing more important to him than riding a bike well is looking good doing it. Frank is co-author along with the other Keepers of the Cog of the popular book, The Rules, The Way of the Cycling Disciple and also writes a monthly column for the magazine, Cyclist. He is also currently working on the first follow-up to The Rules, tentatively entitled The Hardmen. Email him directly at rouleur@velominati.com.

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  • Love this.  I have a 25 mile commute in, in the mornings, and 12 on the route home.  I have exactly the same feelings - eyes alert, the gentle whoosh of wind around the backpack, the quiet roads.  Solitude at 20 miles an hour is way underrated

  • Hmm, my commute is never lonely, I don't think the roads of London are ever quiet, but there is difference in the dark. As you state, we are confined to the small cone of road ahead - is that puddle hiding a pot-hole, will that plastic bag get wrapped in the rear mech and is that stupid fucking driver that's just overtaken me with inches to spare going to suddenly turn left?

  • Riding with a backpack is a nuisance. As Velominati, we have refined our position and learned to control the bike through micro-movements and immeasurable shifts of body weight.

    For the brief period that I commuted (#2 child now gets the train to school so riding to the station isn't an option) I defiled the bike (my commuter is also my #1 and my nine bike) with a rack and panier. My back is too old and stuffed to ride anywhere with a backpack.

    But there is a beauty behind the nuisance: climbing with a heavy load is like training in a fat suit.

    I'm doing this for real at the moment. Had a health test at my gym yesterday which included a body fat percentage test. I failed, badly, and since it was carried out using callipers there's no grounds for an appeal. 32%.

  • Have been off the bike for the last 10 months and have just evoked the rule of N+1 for a CX ride. Yesterday was the first of many to come early morning commutes for the 25 miles on trails to the work, sans backpack. At least in my months off the bike I've had the presence of mind to kit up the office with a locker and all the necessities to allow a ride in, quick shower and change, grab a coffee and walk straight into the morning meetings.

    And I'll thank you not to mention my fat suit again.

  • Nothing like slipping into a wet kit for a cold ride home. Frank, you nailed the worst part of a wet commute perfectly!

  • For about a year I was at an office where I could commute to work by bike.  I used to really look forward to getting up in the morning and going to the office.  Now I have to commute round the M25 and I hate getting up in the morning and going to the office.  The work is the same.

  • I have luxury. My commuter bike has mudguards and a rack (hey, it's a dedicated machine- might as well set it up properly) and at work as well as a shower there's a heated towel rail, ideal for kit drying. Keep the everyday luggage to a minimum, I can carry two week's worth of work clothes in the panniers... so I do.

  • @Nik

    Nothing like slipping into a wet kit for a cold ride home. Frank, you nailed the worst part of a wet commute perfectly!

    Not just a wet commute but any commute when you are ether forced to work hard (the perennial head wind or the inevitability of always having left home five minutes later than you should have) or choose to (those of us who find it hard to ride a bike in other manner than full gas for the given distance).

    It's worse if you then have to sit on a cold train for 45 minutes before riding a Boris bike to the office. That's a guaranteed way to get a chill. (The plus side being that you're unlikely to end up sat next to some fat slug who can't text or facebook without waving their elbows about making that crucial half hour nap all but impossible).

  • The other advantage of commuting to work is the "two jacket trick".  You have to leave a work jacket at work so you leave that over the back of your chair and the unknowing assume that you work late/early as you always have your jacket over your chair when they arrive/leave.  You do need to alternate jackets every so often though to keep the ruse going.

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