The realities of winter cycling hit home this week after the clocks went back at the weekend. No more nipping off work a bit early to squeeze in an hour before it gets dark. It’s dark already.
The heating is on. Hearty home-cooked meals are on the menu. It’s easy to go into hibernation mode and let the bike sit indoors until the weekend, when it’ll probably be too wet to go out anyway.
In an effort to avoid blossoming into a couch potato over the coming months, I was dusting off my turbo trainer and tyre on Monday evening when the logic of doing that struck me as odd. The weather was good, the roads dry and it was really mild outside. Last week I wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot out for a quick spin, so why should the darkness make a difference? It wasn’t turbo weather.
20 minutes later I climbed the hill out of my village with leg warmers, flouro jacket and overshoes, long-fingered gloves, and hastily-charged lights. I hadn’t ridden in the dark since before Easter and my familiar route gave an unfamiliar experience.
Less than a quarter of the route has street lights and much of it is narrow lanes between high hedgerows with steep climbs and descents crossing the valleys cut by streams and burns that feed the Wear and power it on through Durham to Sunderland. In the darkness I felt more isolated on these lanes than I do on lighter evenings. The lack of daylight hid features I unconsciously tick off as milestones, so I reached bends and junctions slightly before or after I was expecting to. And in a welcome turn, I reached the top of two of the biggest climbs sooner than I was expecting.
15 miles with 980ft of climbing took about ten minutes longer than in daylight. My speed on the climbs was unchanged, descents much slower – an effect of being able to see only 25ft ahead. I enjoyed the quietness, broken only by the scrabble of a startled pheasant (I hope) in the hedgerow as I cranked past, and the sense of space the darkness brought with it. I’m pleased I made the effort.