Winter Bike Commuting - Minneapolis, Minnesota

I openly dispute the common assertion that Hell is hot. Let me explain. 

Scenario 1 - Hell is Hot

Let's suppose that scorching heat is, in fact, an accurate description of the netherworld. You are pedaling along, parched, searching for water, until at last your body dies and the heat consumes your flesh, leaving behind a heap of sun-bleached bones. Sounds reasonable. 

Scenario 2 - Hell is Freezing

Now let's suppose that the opposite is true -- that Hell is cold. Again, imagine yourself riding along, muscles so numb that all you can feel are dry bones grinding against each other at the joints. A true die-hard, you press on. You approach an intersection...Red light...Thud. That's right, you fell over because your footwear has been ice-welded to your pedals. You could not release. There you lie, horizontal, in the unplowed bike lane as beautiful people in Range Rovers and Mercedes pass you by, thinking to themselves, "what is that underpaid, uneducated adolescent doing taking a nap on the side of the road? Get on the sidewalk!" Fair observation. However, instead of your flesh being quickly consumed by heat, carnivorous birds, and bacteria, your body is deep frozen. Everything is preserved, especially the pained and tortured look on your face, much like Otzi here.

Your misery is perfectly preserved for generations as your descendants attempt to understand the reasons for which one of their ancestors would attempt to conquer such a hellacious clime. All of this is negated, however, if your corpse is somehow suctioned into the upper atmosphere by an ominous Polar Vortex. Then you're like Moses. 

44 & 17

44 is the number of days below zero so far this winter (through Feb 11, 2014). 17 is the number of consecutive days below zero through the same date. For the majority of the world, this arbitrary threshold of 0 degrees Fahrenheit is roughly equal to negative 18 centigrade. This means that going from negative 17 centigrade to negative 18 centigrade is somehow noteworthy. Simply put, Minneapolis has been ridiculously cold this winter; I'd argue Hell.

Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder

You may have heard the old Scandinavian saying, "there's no bad weather, just bad clothing." Following I will share my successes for avoiding a Mosaic translation via an ice-welded-pedal-induced intersection tip over. All of the items below are used in my lowest temperature bracket, which is anything 10 degrees F or below (negative 12C). 

Head/Face

• Craft winter hat with Windstopper
• Ibex Wool neck gaiter
• Talus Cold Avenger Pro respiratory mask
• Dragon Optics goggles
• Bern Unlimited Brentwood w/ Hunter Kit

Core/Arms/Hands

• Base layer - long-sleeve Craft Active WS crew with Windstopper
• Mid layer - Ibex full-zip sweater
• Outer layer - Craft PXC jacket
• Glove Liner - Craft liner
• Glove - Either Ibex or Gordini

Lower Body

• Craft Performance Storm Bib with windblock panels
• Craft PXC pant
• **Sometimes I'll wear an additional simple full-leg base layer**

Feet

• Sock Liner - thin Keen merino wool liner
• Sock - Keen/Smartwool/Wigwam merino wool higher-pile sock
• Shoe - 45Nrth Wolvhammer SPD

That's a lot of gear. The objective is to block the wind as far away from the body as possible (outer layers), warm with mid layers, and wick moisture with base layers. I find that I'm plenty comfortable in temps down to 25 F below zero (with wind chills of 40-50 below). Now at least stop and help that poor, half-frozen, underpaid adolescent out of the bike lane and on to the sidewalk. 

We Cannot Get Out, They Are Coming!

Months have passed since my last entry. I fear that I have been left solitary in the desolation of the battlefield, absent human contact for as long as I can remember. The enemy continues closing in, relentlessly searching for its next victim; its icy, bony fingers constricting the trachea of this world. No one is safe. Nothing is safe. If you want to save our world, you must hurry. We don't know how much longer we can withstand the nothing.

I have developed methods to escape its frozen clutches and engage in stealthy combat, burying my skin beneath multiple layers of raiment. I believe that I am able to travel undetected for short periods of time. I must not remain exposed to this danger for long, as the all-searching eye will eventually detect my presence and reduce me to a hypothermic resemblance of the human form. My only hope is that my persistence will wear down my foe.

For five unbroken months, I have traveled along the East/West axis between my village and the commerce center. 11 miles I travel in each direction, at times with the wind as my ally, other times as my nemesis. Often, the clouds release their moisture in an attempt to reduce my ability to escape the Captain of Evil. I will not give in, however, I am afraid that I am losing the battle.

Bodies of water have developed a unique defense to the adversarial buffetings. Under constant attack, brave drops of the water tribes rush to the surface, sacrificing their ability to enjoy free motion. They attach with perfect rigidity to their fellow soldiers, creating an impermeable, thick skin of protection at the surface in order to protect their kinsfolk who lay quietly beneath. I am humbled by their selfless sacrifices.Their defenses seem to be holding.

But what is this? Who is this grand warrior, this luminescent orb shining from the heavens? Minions of the enemy's force flee before it. The blanched blanket of accumulated cloud droppings reduces form and flees into the underground rivers. The trees respond, attempting to bring forth blossoms, leaves, and life-giving sustenance. Humans, both young and old, exit their dwellings to witness the supposed victory. Smiles emerge upon their faces. But the enemy is strong. He whom I thought was our conqueror has, for unknown reasons, retreated. I fear he will not return. I fear I am slipping into madness. As I am huddled deep within the darkness of my protective abode, I can hear the sinister laugh of my enemy, relishing in his supposed victory. All hope seems to be lost.

It is as I feared. They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. The shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out, they are coming.

In spite of the loneliness that is inherent in my form of battle, I must continue. 

I share with you images from the wintry battlefield in hopes that you may be able to tell the story:

It's Cold in Minnesota - Super Cold

Today's morning wind chills were around -35F (-37C). Good garbage. Turns out I was overlayered on top, as evidenced by lots of sweat, and my feet were quite cold after the 11-mile, 50-minute commute. Here's what my face looked like at the bike rack at work:

And my cable lock, as I uncoiled it, snapped (well, the cable coating snapped).

Tomorrow should be "warmer," about -20F windchills on the way in...