Cycling is built on trust. You trust your brakes. You trust your drivetrain. You trust that when your friend says, “Don’t worry, I won’t bring mudguards if you don’t,” they mean it.
You’d think the hard part of riding in winter is the weather. It’s not. It’s convincing your mates to join you in this borderline clinically insane experience. Because once the race season ends, everyone turns into a part-time meteorologist and a full-time excuse generator. Suddenly,…
You told yourself it was just a quick spin. A little shakeout ride. Beat the sunset. Home before dark. Maybe even time for a post-ride snack that doesn’t involve eating peanut butter from the jar in cycling gloves.
October café stops are not like summer café stops. Gone is the carefree lounging, the exposed tanlines, the effortless sipping of espressos in the sun.
It starts with a cloud. You check the forecast. You check your phone. You check the sky. A 40% chance of rain. That’s not really a thing, is it? That’s just… possibility. Probability. Schrödinger’s weather.
There’s a moment. A quiet, chilly moment. You’re standing in the doorway, bike ready, snacks packed, one arm in your jersey — and you’re just staring at the sky. It looks… grey? But not mean grey. Kind grey. A little damp around the edges. Possibly…
It’s autumn. The speed has faded. The sun has fled. Your tan lines have blurred into nothingness. And now, your coach (or your spreadsheet, or your guilty conscience) whispers those fateful words:
You’ve finished your ride. You’ve climbed hills, outrun a wasp, and maybe even waved smugly at a runner. You’re tired. You’re sweaty. You’re pretty sure your left hamstring is considering resignation. There’s only one thing on your mind.
