Riding the Storm Out – An Afternoon Snowstorm Cycle Adventure

bike in a snowy field

January 29, 2022

It wasn’t the storm it was forecast to be, but the snow was falling all day – albeit not heavy, sticky flakes – the temperature was in the teens and the wind was blowing 30-mph gusts.

In others words, a perfect day for a bike ride.

The thermometer read 12 degrees, but my online weather chart said it felt like 10 below. So today’s ride would require the full-on gear treatment: top and bottom base layer, five tech over layers, insulated ski gloves, balaclava, two pairs of wool socks, goggles for the eyes and a puffy coat.

Bridge over the Oxbow inlet

Suited up, I headed out toward the Oxbow inlet. Riding was tricky from the start. Roads weren’t yet plowed and tire tracks weren’t any help. All they did was cover the icy patches underneath, so that if you followed them your tires would get jerked around as the icy tracks crossed. Much better was the untrammeled sides of the road with a fresh, four-inch layer of snow.

I nearly toppled over any number of times as I hit hidden ice patches, but managed to stay upright for the two-and-a-half-hour ride.

Slow Ride

I’d already accepted that today’s ride was going to be relatively slow, and that was fine. Paramount for me was staying warm, not how much mileage I would cover.

Staying warm in the sub-zero wind worked out fine once I got working, and pushing tires through the snow provided a good workout. My toes froze but otherwise I was warm head to feet.

The great thing about riding amid a storm is you have the roads almost all to yourself. Very few cars venture out in these conditions, nor should they. Rather, the few people you meet in the middle of a snowstorm are cross-country skiers, some snowmobilers and a few dog walkers.

Seeking Desolation

Once I got out in it, and started having fun, I decided to extend my planned ride and followed the same route I’d ridden a few weeks ago during a dawn ice ride. Through the back roads of the Northampton meadows and down into the isolated field roads running along the Connecticut River.

It’s one of my favorite places to ride in the winter because it’s so desolate and barren. I would have liked to have stopped more and appreciated the desolation and stillness, but it was simply too cold to remain standing in it for long without moving. Out there in the fields the wind gusts and billows freely and swipes at anything in its path. Just stopping for a minute for a drink of water, I could feel the freezing wind eating right through all my layers. Time to move.

I rode up into Northampton and navigated a few empty residential streets back to the rail trail bike path. Even that wasn’t easy riding as it was covered in drifting snow and bumpy with iced footprints.

I worked my way back down to the meadows behind South Street, back past the Oxbow and Arcadia, up to the Manhan bike path and around toward home.

Riding the storm out. It’s the perfect – and different – way to enjoy the snow.

An Early Morning Ice Ride

January 13, 2022

It’s never easy getting up and out on a cold, dark January morning. Even harder if it’s by choice, not of necessity. I had taken the day off and could have slept in. What am I doing up before the sun, I kept asking myself as I sipped a hot green tea.

Twenty minutes later, all the doubt had vanished as I watched the sun peek up behind Mount Tom and cast a beam of light across the Oxbow perfectly aligned with where I stood on its bank.

A morning icy bike ride had been a good idea after all on this mid-January morning. I crossed the blocked off bridge at Old Springfield Road, over the Oxbow, and rode into the Northampton meadows, taking care to steer into the few frozen dirt patches I could find, for the traction.

Most of these back roads were covered in hard caked snow and slick ice, tricky for riding. Worse, car and truck tire grooves had been ridged into the surface so that a bike path could be yanked in any direction at any time by the hardened ice. It was impossible to trust what you’re riding on.

I rode slowly past the Oxbow Marina and toward the the dirt and gravel Potash Road. Almost no one in the Meadows this cold morning, which lent it a mystical, far away nature, as if I had traveled a long distance to get here. I was relieved nobody was there to see me go down on the back woodsy Manhan Road. The iced tire groove I had been following crossed with another. My bike tire decided on a different path than the one I intended. The bike won, its front tire jerking to the right. I didn’t adjust quickly enough and rolled onto my shoulder, almost chuckling, “you finally got me.”

I continued riding until I popped out on Pleasant Street just above the bowling alley. I worked my way across the street and took a right on Hockanum Road to continue through the meadows, this time on the other side of Route 91. I took a left on Nook Road and rode out into the middle of the fields, where there’s a barren intersection with Valley Field Road. I know these roads well, having run and walked them in warmer weather. But again, in mid-winter, completely alone at this crossroad amid the dormant fields that sweep down to the Connecticut River and over to the Northampton Airfield, it feels surreal and exposed. Like a desert. Except cold. Too cold to stand for very long marveling at the exquisitely still isolation.

I moved on. Past the airport, under Route 91 on Old Ferry Road, left on Cross Path Road over to Ventures Field to begin making my way back home. Pleasant Street to the bike path, through downtown, behind Smith College and along Route 5 and 10. The path was crusty with ice and pocked with boot prints, making for a rough mile before the bridge over Route 5 and 10.

From there, the path cleared, where sunshine had done its job melting away ice the day before. Final smooth mile.

The perfect way to start the day, especially when you don’t have to.

Why Biking in the Dark Offers Rewards Over Daytime Riding

It’s late November, a cool time of the year. Temperatures chilling, air drying, leaves nearly all fallen, holidays on the horizon. Snow usually has not yet shown itself yet at this time of year.

In other words, late November is the perfect time for outdoor activities like hiking and biking.

The only problem is, there’s not much daylight. Once we set those clocks back to accommodate our weird and futile ritual of Daylight Savings Time, we only get about nine hours of natural light within the 24-hour cycle. For us working folks, that’s about enough time to prepare to go to the office in the morning and spend the day there.

By the time we’re heading home, it’s nearly dusk. If we do want to bike or hike, our only option is to do so in the dark.

Light Up

For a couple of reasons, pastimes like hiking and biking are not typically done in the dark.

For one thing, there’s the safety issue. Biking at night requires some precautions – at least a raised visibility and bright lights – that daytime riding can skip. And in order to hike at night, you should probably be familiar with or knowledgeable of the trail so you don’t wander unknowingly and dangerously near a precipice.

But safety issues can be overcome with good headlamps and bike headlights, with backup batteries and lights.

Nighttime activities can be a little spooky for some people. You simply can’t see as much, and that unknown factor alone raises the hairs on some people’s necks. The woods have a different feel at night, different animals scurrying about, different sounds and feel.

And cycling solo at night can be eerie. No kids at the dimly lit playground…creepy. Not as many people walking about, and very few other bikers on bike paths. For some that’s a positive. Others are spooked by it.

Into the Desert Night

I hadn’t taken a real bike ride at night until recently. When riding my bike across the United States in May-June-July 2021, I faced a 111-mile crossing of the Mojave desert. It had to be done in one day because there’s nothing out there, and the early July forecast projected 107 degrees. Not a place I wanted to camp.

My heat-avoidance strategy was to take off riding into the desert at 2 a.m. in relatively cooler temps. It was 90 degrees when I departed from Parker, Ariz., into the Mojave. And very dark.

Mojave desert sunrise
After three hours of dark riding, the sun peeked up in the distance behind me.

I had been nervous about the ride, especially riding alone into the desert at night. I had my superb headlight illuminating the road, two blinking taillights, reflectors on my rear-facing panniers and a highly reflective jersey. I was visible to the rare trucks ambling by on the road, I could tell by the way they backed off the gas several hundred yards behind me, signaling that I had entered their field of vision. No doubt I appeared as a strange apparition in the desert night, not something they expected to see. But it worked.

What I discovered in those few hours riding through the pitch black Mojave before the sun peeked up over the eastern hills in my rear distance, is that riding at night is a wonderful experience.

The feeling is so distinct from daytime riding that it’s like a whole different sport. The air is cooler, of course, but also stiller and more serene. The night is calm and peaceful in a way that the bustle of day can’t offer.

If I were to do that night ride across the Mojave again (which I probably won’t, for several reasons not including the enjoyable night ride), I would likely take off earlier, like midnight, in order to extend the pleasant night ride.

A Whole Different View

Ever since my night in the desert, I’ve been much more open to riding in the dark.

Recently I took another night ride. Here in November, it’s a wholly different sensation than a steamy summer desert ride. But it’s still serene and peaceful. Everything takes on a different visage in the low light. You see your hometown in a completely distinct way.

Of course, it’s colder at night, and in the Northeast in November it can be in the 20s or 30s. So extra layers, head coverings and gloves are a necessity for a pleasant experience.

I also wear my eyeglasses at night instead of sunglasses. They allow me to see more clearly and provide some eye shield from the cold wind.

It can take a mile or so to warm up. But once you do, the cool night air offers a refreshing balance to your body heat. The quiet and stillness envelops you and the lack of long views can create a sensation of floating. In remote areas the only thing you can see is the beam of light in front of you created by your headlight.

That’s where you’re going. Everything else is shrouded in a blanket of black. Except for the sky.

If you’re fortunate enough to be a in a rural area riding at night, be sure to look up. It may be cloudy and somewhat obscured. But if it’s a clear night, you are treated to a dazzling display of the billions of stars and planets that are always out there but only visible to us during night hours.

Into the Night

I encourage anyone with a bike to venture out in the night. It could be early evening, midnight or pre-dawn. You’ll get a perspective you haven’t had before, and it’ll likely surprise you. You might see people and sights you’d never see in the daytime.

No matter what, you will definitely get a fresh perspective.

It’s short-term adventure at its finest. Some challenge, a little risk, a new way of seeing things.

Take a ride. Into the dark.

All for 15 Minutes Atop Mt. Greylock

Bike to Mt. Greylock summit, Massachusetts

Ride: Easthampton to Mt. Greylock summit, RT
123 miles, 9,000 feet climbed

Some goals aren’t about the goal. Some goals are about everything surrounding the goal: the planning, the anticipation, the work, time and travel spent achieving the goal, and the return from that achievement.

Cycling from my home in Easthampton to and up Mt. Greylock, the highest point in Massachusetts at 3,500 feet, was an all-day endeavor. It’s about a 50-mile ride just to get to the base of the mountain on the southern side, and that’s if you don’t take any wrong turns or waste valuable time blindly following your nav’s direction into a rabbit hole of mountain bike trails for which you’re not equipped.

As it is, riding from Easthampton to the Greylock base in Lanesboro is 3,700 feet of climbing up out of the Valley. Your mph isn’t going to be optimal even without the mountain bike trails.

I headed out my driveway at about 7:20 a.m. The day was perfect, about 60 degrees to start, a few clouds and clearing up. I made good time, as one may, to Williamsburg. Then the climbing started, up Route 9, five miles uphill to Goshen. From there, up and down to Cummington and a requisite stop at the Olde Creamery. Four miles beyond the Creamery, my nav suggested getting off Route 9 onto Main Road in West Cummington. I was eager to try an unfamiliar route, so I followed as the roads began climbing steeply, then narrowed, then turned to gravel, then dirt. Finally, I found myself on a single-track muddy suggestion of a path littered with bowling ball-sized rocks and stream crossings testing both my riding ability and my gravel bike’s endurance. My bike, True, who, after all, recently took me across America, was plenty tough enough. It’s just that, I was spending a lot of time and energy traversing this mountain bike trail, and I wasn’t close to Mt. Greylock.

When I finally found my way off the mountain bike trail, nav again suggested a turn and I took it, eager to get back on track. I rode a mile in and the road, now gravel, abruptly ended. There may have been a path there through the woods, back sometime in the 1960s? But little sign of anything trail-like now. So I begrudgingly turned around and headed back to the main road, cussing the entire way.

I came to Route 116 and realized it would take me to Adams and toward the north side of Greylock, not where I wanted to be. (The north road up Greylock is much more difficult than Rockwell Road on the south side.) So I opted to add about eight miles to the route, and take the time to head back down through Cheshire and work my way over to the south base of the mountain. Again, gravel roads, and my phone carrier now loosening up so that my phone fell out onto the road at one point.

Was I suspecting at this point that my Greylock trip was in jeopardy? Yes. Did I consider for a few minutes bagging the entire goal and trying another day? Yes. Sometimes it’s the smart move. Unfortunately, I too often ignore such omens and push through, which I did.

By the time I got to the Greylock Visitors Center on Rockwell Road, I’d ridden 63 miles and climbed more than 3,700 feet. The summit, my goal, was still eight more miles away and 1,700 feet uphill. After a break and a snack, I started up the steep road.

Reaching the summit of Greylock was a spectacular triumph. The weather was about as good as it gets and the views were/are stunning.

For 15 minutes. Ironically, I determined that the climbing of Greylock wasn’t as difficult as the ride to get there.

I’d have gladly spent longer up on Greylock, but because I’d taken wrong turns and pretended I was a mountain biker on the trip there, I’d lost too much time to dally at the top. I still had 60 miles to ride back home. And anyway, I’ve been atop Greylock many times, and will be many more.

The ride home was 1) grueling, 2) long, 3) a rush in places, and finally, 4) a relief. In brief, the climb out of Pittsfield up to Windsor on Route 9 was brutal. My back was killing me as I plodded along literally in my lowest climbing gear. Again, climbing up from Cummington to Goshen, hard and slow.

But once I reached Goshen, I knew I was golden with about 22 miles to go. I turned on the speed, 5 miles back downhill, Goshen to Williamsburg in 10 minutes, 30 mph all the way and loving every second. Then an easy jaunt on the bike path all the way home from Haydenville back to Easthampton. I rolled in at 6:45 p.m., dusk setting in.

This was a goal on my list since last spring, a big one. I set my personal records for one-day mileage and climbing. As I relaxed later that night, I couldn’t help thinking ahead to more, bigger goals. Could I make it from Easthampton to Burlington, VT, in one day?

August Adventure Month: Day 31

I declared August 2021 Adventure-a-Day Month (yes, I can do that)! Every day of August, I embarked on some type of adventure, 31 days, 31 adventures, some big, some small, some physical, some mental. It’s my way of making adventure part of everyday life. I write about each adventure below.

Dusk bike ride

It’s not easy coming up with and executing an adventure every single day. That’s what I attempted for the month of August. Not every day’s adventure has been notable, and some days it’s been a bit of a stretch to even call them adventures. But, I argue, every day of August I did something out of the ordinary, at least a little risky, usually with travel involved, and some kind of challenge – all the elements of adventure, by my definition.

My final adventure was by no means my grandest, and really, my August Adventure Month ended with somewhat of a whimper. It was nearing dusk. I’d spent a long day at the office. I was tired mentally. So, with barely a thought about it, I hopped on my bike for a contemplative, relaxing ride around Easthampton, thinking back on this interesting month of daily adventures. I wended my way through Nashawannuck Park and along the streets near downtown, watching people enjoy the waning days of summer. I enjoyed the ride; not much of an adventure, but perhaps that’s a fitting way for a month of daily adventures to end: quietly, without unnecessary fanfare, a silent, unhurried homage to those that came before it, and their meaning not as individual achievements, but as a totality of lessons learned, about imagining, planning, pursuing, achieving and pondering adventures. This is life. An adventure every day.

Adventure: One-hour bike ride at dusk.
Distance traveled: About 14 miles cycling.
Challenges: Getting on the bike and completing this month of adventure.
Risks: Traffic and other cycling risks.
Difficulty scale 1-10: 4
Highlights: Riding through town at dusk, savoring the final days of summer; the feeling of accomplishment from completing a month of adventures every single day.

August Adventure Month: Day 29

Bike atop Mt. Sugarloaf, Sunderland, Mass.

Day 29: Sunday, August 29
Bike to/up the 3 Valley mountains with paved roads: Mt. Tom, Mt. Holyoke, Mt. Sugarloaf

This was a goal on my list all summer: ride to and up the three Valley peaks with paved roads in one continuous ride. It always sounded daunting, as much for the long ride in between the mountains as for the climb up each one. I’ve climbed each one separately at different times, but combining them all into one long ride (a 66-mile loop climbing 3,500 feet) was a whole different prospect. Mt. Tom was first because it’s close to my house. I rode out my driveway, as I always do, and headed over to Mt. Tom, which I’ve now climbed about a half dozen times. It gets easier each time, and today’s was not difficult, though exerting. Leg’s warmed up I traveled along the ridge road to the park’s west entrance and took off down back down the mountain on Route 141 back into Easthampton. I rode into town and caught the Manhan Bike Trail into Northampton, then linked up with the Norwottuck Rail Trail to cross the Connecticut River into Hadley. Then over to Bay Road and to Route 47 to Skinner Park, home of Mt. Holyoke and the Summit House at the top. This is never an easy ride. The road starts with a steep 3/4-mile climb – always a leg waker-upper – before it flattens a little where it passes the New England Trail. Then the steepness picks up again with several hairpin turns and 8-10% grades as you near the top. Low climbing gears and standing necessary. The payoff of the Summit House is always awesome with great views north, the Valley and river below. After blasting down the road, I turned east on Route 47 toward Granby, hooked up to Route 116 and made my way up over the notch, legs starting to feel the day’s ride. Down into South Amherst, still on 116, I worked my way up the long hill into Amherst Center. I delighted at the Amherst Town Common carnival as I rode past, remembering taking my kids to this annual event when they were little. Then I cruised through downtown Amherst to University Drive, straight through the UMass campus, bustling with students (I also apparently pissed off one of them in his honking car), and down into North Amherst, winding back out to Route 116 toward Sunderland. Finally, after 16 miles since Mt. Hokyoke, Mt. Sugarloaf was in my sights, and I crossed the Connecticut River again then climbed up to the access road. Climbing Sugarloaf is moderate at first, for about 3/4 of a mile, before it turns sharp right and picks up to an 8% grade for the last 1/3 push to the top. Awesome views are the reward, with a different view of the river, Sunderland and UMass in the distance. Relieved with the three peak climbs accomplished, I headed fast down the road and started my long ride back home. Goal achieved.

Adventure: Bike to and up the three Valley peaks with paved roads: Mt. Tom, Mt. Holyoke, Mt. Sugarloaf.
Distance traveled: About 66 miles cycling, 3,500+ feet climbed.
Challenges: Long endurance ride; three tough climbs up mountains; keeping hydrated and fueled.
Risks: Cycling risks: traffic, slipping/falling; risk of losing control when riding 45 mph down a mountain;
Difficulty scale 1-10: 8
Highlights: Spectacular views from the tops of Mt. Holyoke and Sugarloaf; the feeling of real accomplishment from having achieved a tough goal.

August Adventure Month: Day 25

Atop Mt. Sugarloaf, Sunderland, Mass.

Day 25: Wednesday, August 25
Bike ride, Mt. Sugarloaf

This was my first time bike climbing Mt. Sugarloaf, the knob of a mountain in Sunderland, MA. The road is about one mile to the summit. It starts out with a moderate up the side of the mountain for about two thirds of a mile before you take a hairpin turn to the right to start the steep climb to the top. Once you make that hairpin turn things get more difficult, and it’s down to the lowest gear to manage the very steep, one-third-mile climb to the summit. This climb is distinct from Mt. Holyoke and Mt. Tom – the other Valley mountains with paved roads – in that it saves the steepest climb for last. It’s not the hardest Valley paved-road climb, Mt. Holyoke is longer and has a steep beginning and end. The view at the top is well worth the effort with a sweeping panorama of the northern Valley, the town of Sunderland and the Connecticut River wending below. Then the reward: a mile-long fast coast back down the mountain road!

Adventure: Bike climb, Mt. Sugarloaf, Sunderland, MA
Distance traveled: About 32 miles RT.
Challenges: A long ride on Route 47 with very narrow shoulder; a rigorous climb up the mountain with a very steep finish.
Risks: Traffic on Route 47; running out of energy on the steep climb toward the top; losing control on the fast, winding descent.
Difficulty scale 1-10: 7.5
Highlights: It’s always a triumphant feeling to come out on the top of a mountain, having conquered the climb. Today offered a wonderful, clear view. And the ride back down the mountain road was fast, exciting, a little scary, and invigorating.