Rain, wind, cold, standing water and potholes.
Headlights, bike lights, ninja pedestrians and cyclists.
Broken glass like confetti sparkling in the dark and leaf mulch on the lanes.
Ice and snow.
This is the environment in which the winter commuting cyclist enjoys (or endures, depending on your levels of grit and determination) their daily travels to work throughout the dark winter months of a British winter. A few years ago, I approached my first full winter of commuting with trepidation; worrying about a number of things that, in the end, turned out to be the least of my problems.
Staying warm and dry was relatively easy, once a few key bits of kit had been purchased. My commute is suitable for making it an opportunity for regular exercise, and I used to embrace my full MAMIL and go lycra; it's comfy, doesn't stick to the skin when wet, and does away with annoying flapping of trousers in the breeze. It also wicks away sweat and dries quickly, More recently I've moved away from lycra to technical clothing of the kind used for walking and running, and that seems to work best for me. It also works for cafe stops, museums and pubs without looking too obvious. But the real clothing discovery for warm, comfortable cycling were these: a thin skull cap I could wear under my helmet (I'm follically challenged, so it's cold up there), a thin snood/neck warmer, and neoprene overshoes - possibly the best piece of clothing I've ever purchased. With those and a good jacket, cold has never been a problem. Combined with that other bit of equipment, the humble mudguard, it is only rain and the occasional splash of a puddle that gets me wet.
Mudguards - just saying it takes all the passion out of a room. It is, by far, the least interesting sounding topic one can think of. But, oh! how I do love my mudguards! A pair of really long, full length, wide ones, with nice, rigid fixings. I won't labour the point, but the difference they make to how clean and dry you and your bike stays on winter commutes is immense. Not that they are a panacea as winter dirt certainly reaches parts other seasons cannot reach. I will say this though: there is nothing better than a front mudguard that goes all the way down - down so far that it almost catches on the kerb when you drop off the pavement. Down so far it passes a horizontal line through the hub to hug the wheel half way to the ground. Even better if it has a flap at the end too. Your feet and bottom bracket will love it. Only the deepest of puddles now reach me, and even then I can position my pedals to miss the spray.
But what about lights? I hear pretty much no-one say. No-one says it, because in my experience, hardly anyone in built up areas has them. Bonkers. However, if your commute includes unlit lanes, then I have found a 900-1100 lumens front light indispensable. Anything less is too pathetic to light up the road, and anything more results in full-beam admonishment from oncoming car drivers. The lights I used to use could be set to different levels, which is a good function. Rear light on my bike was a 400 lumens multi-mode model, which I left on a combined solid / flash option. I said 'used to have' earlier as from 2022 I have been running a Busch and Muller LED light set up powered by a Shutter Precision PV8 hub dynamo. This is excellent, as I don't need to worry about charging the lights - they just work as I cycle along, and even have a standby capacitor so they stay on for 3 mins when stationary. My pet hate - flashing front lights in the dark. Better than nothing, but they don't help depth perception and are triggers for migraine - especially the fast ones. Each to their own though.
Anyway, the point is, cycling in the dark is not as scary or cold or wet or problematic as it might appear, and there is something very appealing about it. Maybe it's the heightened sense of movement (it always feels fast) and sounds carry well if it is still. Owls and other nocturnal wildlife are encountered more often. One memorable evening I cycled along for a stretch with a barn owl in my lights, cruising along ahead of me and in no rush to move away. Another time I dodged a deer and a fox, crossing the road side by side as if coming back from a night out, seemingly happy with each other's company, and not particularly bothered by my slowing down to look and gawp.
There is only one thing about winter commuting that causes me a little raised anxiety - potholes. Cycling the same route daily in winter, it is amazing how quickly you become familiar with every defect and pothole there is in the road. You can literally watch potholes grow day by day, and the knowledge allows you to plan ahead and avoid them. I have several that I now think of almost fondly. Some lurk on corners, others hide under puddles of water. They are large and deep, or small and legion, but all grow like they are on steroids once December comes; road mushrooms. Some I avoid by taking primary (staying in the middle if the lane), and some I skim past on a known route through and between them. One set, on a bend in the middle of a particularly dark road, I avoid by taking a ridge of tarmac a few centimetres wide like Indiana Jones crossing a bottomless pit on faith alone. I have watched them get repaired, then reform again like weeds. Once established, only a complete resurfacing will prevent their return (for a while, maybe). In other words, the winter commuting cyclist necessarily becomes an expert in pothole lore, and learns to respect and fear them a little.They also get very good at reporting them. I haven't quite got round to naming my favourite potholes yet, but I have thought about it. Maybe I'll write a story sometime... An Old Cyclists' Book of Piratical Potholes... It might make a good musical.
