The First Annual Icecyle-45

Let me begin by stating one of the more painfully obvious truths: I am a big, dumb male and I have no idea why my girlfriend hasn’t run away screaming from me yet. She, being as prescient as she is lovely and talented, is the one who reminded me on Friday morning to get rain gear for biking as rain was in the forecast for Saturday.

Did I remember to do what she had advised later that day on Friday?

Of course not. BDM Syndrome is a powerful, awful ailment, you see. But I think I made that abundantly clear when I completed a 45-mile ride by bicycling 63 the previous weekend.

So, I had no rain gear and low and behold, it rained - just as had been forecast.

It was raining before I got picked up in Jersey City. It was raining all the way on the drive over to Basking Ridge and it was raining in the parking lot as we get ready for the ride. And it kept on raining, just to show that weatherman who said the rain would stop at about 1pm.

While the forecast called for rain, the temperature that was forecast seemed warm enough to just tough it out with a jersey and those oh so flattering shorts. The golf ball-sized goose bumps that emerged soon after exiting the car in the Liberty Cycle parking lot cured me of that notion. That, and our beneficent coach Hillary’s mention that the temperature was to drop later in the day.

Luckily for me, a couple of brain cells at some point accidentally worked on early on Saturday. And just as a lark I threw some of my cold weather ensemble (all black, like I am some sort of ninja on two wheels) into my bag at the last minute before heading out the door. That was the first of two smart things that I did on Saturday.

But I said I brought some of my cold weather clothing. I neglected a few rather key items. For one, I didn’t wear wool socks. Wool stays warm even when wet. Cotton socks, in contrast, become sponges for water when wet and offer no warmth whatsoever. So I wore those.

Also, I left my insulating glove liners at home that might have made my hands less cold (notice I didn’t use the word “warm” there).

And where does a majority of your body heat depart from you? Answer: Your head. So, I left my balaclava within the confines of my bedroom. It stayed quite dry and warm. I faced another fate. Every time we hit a hill it was like getting brain freeze without the pleasure of the sugar high.

And those socks weren't the only article of clothing that was deeply hydrophyllic (that means water- loving for those that skipped the science classes in college).

Now, it was as early on as getting dressing in the parking lot that I noticed that while my wind breaker was superb at allowing me to slice through a windy day, what it did with special alacrity was absorb water. And my cold weather tights, when removed at the end of the Icecyle-45, easily weighed twice as much as when I had slipped them on.

It wasn’t until mile 20 or so that I found that my booties were not so much keeping my warmth in, but the water that had accumulated in my shoes. By about mile 30 or so, I knew I still had feet because I could see them spinning below, but below the ankle, nothing.

To entertain ourselves, we would squeeze our hands in a fist in a futile attempt to drain the water logged in our gloves, and to get some blood going.

I mentioned we, and that brings me to the second smart thing I did on Saturday. I stuck with some one who lives in the area and let him lead the way. Eric Dickson proved an excellent choice, as we didn’t miss a single turn. (again, see last week's blog)

While Mr. Dickson seemed to have a GPS unit built in his head (i.e., he actually paid attention to the names on the street signs), he too has his flaws. Eric, also afflicted with BDMS (that’s Big Dumb Male Syndrome), had the opportunity to not only to buy rain gear, but at a discount of 50% off two weeks ago. I don’t need to tell you the decision he made.

(Note: I would have a fund raiser for BDMS, but I don't think it would be very organized, more than half the afflicted wouldn't be able to get to the events or meetings because they wouldn't stop to ask for directions. The rest would either forget entirely or run out of gas on the way there, etc. etc. And even if I was able to raise money, who would it go to? I think the wives and girlfriends - sort of a award/thank you for putting up with the ravages of the Y-chromosomity of it all.)

To pass the time, we played what I call “body pain poker”. Every once in a while, we’d try to out bid one another. “I’ve got a pair of numb hands, a frozen head, and ten numb toes,” Dickson would ante. And typically would have a hand that ended in a draw, or however it works in poker. The pot went up as time went on and the temperature dropped.

We finished the ride and it was when I had changed out of my utterly drenched and still haltingly fashionably all-black ensemble that my body began to shiver like a old Chevy with bad gas.

Needless to say, I am looking forward to telling stories of heat and sunburn. And no, I still don't have the rain gear.