Maple Snow Cones

Hoar frost on gold dirt
and ferns that are dripping
Cold air and hot breath
And tires great for gripping

Snowflakes that sparkle
And trails that are sweet
This is why riding in winter is neat!

When it’s raining
When it’s dark out
When it kinda sucks…

I just turn on my lights
and I embrace the nights
And try to give zero fuuuucks

For those of us in the Cascadia region, riding in winter is one of those things that we just gotta do. If you don’t ride in the rain, you don’t ride. I’ll be the first to say I strongly dislike the damp cold in this region, but I haven’t always felt this way. I moved to Washington from a tropical climate when I was 17, and back then I used to love the cold. In college, I did ridiculously stupid shit like swim in the campus fountains inFebruary, get pulled behind cars in the snow on my snowboard, and streak through wintry streets as a dare. I spent three years as a coxswain in the pelting rain and wind during UW dawn patrol rowing practices on Lake Washington. It made me feel alive! It was like a wet slap of, “HELLO!” whenever I walked outside. My eyes watered, my breath curled, and it wasn’t the stifling humidity of the deep south.

Then I started riding bikes and I bet some of you empathize with the fact that time and age do funny things to a person. The cold just hits differently now. Herein lies the problem: when you’re a die-hard mountain biker with an addiction to movement, riding in the winter feels like a form of self-flagellation, and yet, here we are.

I’ve written a few pieces about riding during the cruddy seasons, or how I wholly embrace night riding, but if I’m being totally honest, I’m likely suffering from something akin to Stockholm Syndrome. My captors, cold and rain, have become the things I’ve forced myself to love. I feel like I have no other option. Embrace the frigid slop or slide into a chasm of deep depression.

Some of you are probably thinking I need to lighten up and go skiing. Sure, I could hang up the bike and become a devoted lover of snow. I don’t dislike the snow or participating in snow sports. I snowboard at Baker. I have a split board and thoroughly enjoy touring with my friends, but I don’t get the same joy and pleasure out of snow, so for those of you who can just put the bike in the shed for five months and rip around pow and find fulfillment—good for you. That’s not me, so don’t tell me that I have a fever, and the only prescription is more pow surfing.

So, what’s a devoted rider to do? How do we stay sane on cold rides? For me, the biggest concerns are my bouts of Raynaud’s and Chilblains—circulatory issues that cause you to lose all feeling except excruciating pain in your fingers and toes, so operating brakes and shifters becomes nearly impossible. My feet are so messed up that my toes turn dark purple and start to lose their skin. How’s your foot fetish doing now? I’ve tried all kinds of things to treat these ailments. I’ve changed my diet. I’ve tried heated everything, topical creams, and weird naturopathic snake oil concoctions, and while it’s by no means comfortable, I’m able to temper the immediate pain for a duration long enough that lets me scoot out for shorter rides. This has led me to focus on embracing the little things that I find joyful on these rides because lord knows all I want to do is scream in agony and cry because it hurts so freaking much. But riding is a hell of a drug, so the joys become the focal point.

I believe riding at night in the snow may be as close to living in a fantasy land as I’ll ever get. I feel like I’m floating through a silent land made of sugar. Everything sparkles in such a luminous manner that it feels like I’m on psychdellics. I want to lick the leaves, and sometimes I do! Recently a brilliantly creative friend suggested I start taking portable packets of maple syrup on my ride so I can make maple snow cones when I get the urge to eat the snow. Tempting.

How about those foggy days that turn our forests into picture-perfect dank wonderlands? How often have you ridden on a cold day where the fog hugs every tree and creates the layering effect that makes this place so unbelievably special? You dream of the dark days where the greens are extra vibrant, the air smells like fresh dirt, your skin is perpetually moist from the dew, and you stop and find yourself speechless because it’s that fucking beautiful.

Last week a friend and I left for a ride in the early evening. The nearly full moon was poking out through broken clouds that morphed into long, illuminated puffs across the sky. It was cold and surprisingly breezy. It looked like one of those nights that was invented for Halloween. The bare maple trees lorded over us like looming spindly monsters with bony fingers reaching up to touch the stars. The trail was paved with wet leaves that shone orange, rust, and burgundy in our lights. The towering pines started swaying in sync. It was the perfect night for a ride.

As we ascended, the swaying pines gave way to argumentative alders that groaned and creaked as the winds picked up. We looked out over the cut block on the climb as the little city twinkled below. I noticed the clouds were moving in. A few minutes later I asked if what we were seeing was rain or snow. “Snow? I think. No, rain. Wait. Snow? I can’t tell,” my friend replied. We were as indecisive about our route as we were about the precipitation. Adrienne wanted to do a ride that was “medium.” We pedaled on. As we traversed the mountain the questionable precipitation made itself known in the form of snow—light at first but suddenly the skies just opened up. Visibility became a total crapshoot. We giggled like kids as we navigated the trails, still feeling warm and dry from climbing hard. When we’d topped out on our route the snow was deep enough to do snow angels, so of course I dropped down and flapped my arms and legs like we did when we were kids making those perfect little snowy arcs.

“We’re totally going to regret this,” she said, laughing while we tried to find the trail entrance in proper whiteout conditions. “I knew exactly where I was, but I felt like we were on another planet. Wayfinding was hard when you could barely see beyond your front wheel. The trails were completely covered in snow. “FRESH TRACKS!” I yelled as I dropped into the descent. We cackled and howled our way down the trail at probably a snail’s pace but god damn it was fun. It reminded me of that wet slap in the face I used to get as a kid in college.

But all good things must come to an end and before we’d gotten close to the bottom, we’d both reached our breaking points. We could no longer feel our hands or feet. Our shoes were full of cold water. “I just need to get down now,” I lamented while braking with 3 fingers because my hands no longer worked properly. We rode trail for as long as we could properly steer, but eventually, my ability to do that safely left too. The circulation issues were preventing me from controlling my bike. “This is how people die in the wilderness,” I joked, knowing I was only minutes from my house, but gobsmacked by how incredibly hard it was to manipulate my bike and body.

Eventually, we made it back to my house. We dropped our bikes in the yard, pushed through the back door, and stood there bewildered. I was unable to remove my gloves, unzip my jacket, or unbuckle my helmet. My boyfriend stared in disbelief when he saw us with piles of snow on our helmets, as it hadn’t snowed at the house. He quickly grabbed us towels and fresh changes of clothes. Adrienne had to help me take my gear off. We both shrieked as the screaming barfies brought the blood back into our fingers and toes. I once again praised the practicality of the Hot Bike Wash as the warm water brought feeling back into my hands as I cleaned our bikes.

“Well, that was fun…until it wasn’t,” Adrienne said. “No kidding,” was all I could muster. But despite the terrible weather, these are the rides that I love most. We laughed. We screamed. We giggled. We felt like little kids barreling down the hill. What adults do this crap? Surely not 40-something-year-old women, unless you’re us and you live for stories and adventure and doing dumb shit for the sake of seeing if you can. We had it all that night. Everything except the maple syrup. Next time.