Cold in the Catskills
Once I began riding outside in early February it was nearly impossible to commit myself back to the trainer. I had been able to pump out 40-hour weeks on the trainer in the middle of January when my training was just starting and Zwift was the only form of riding I was doing, but once I got a taste of riding outside I couldn’t go back to 8-hour long rides on Zwift. I’ve never finished a long ride outside and thought of my time as wasted, but when you get on a stationary bike before the sun rises and don’t get off it until after the sun sets you feel like you’ve thrown your whole day away. After my first trip to the coast during the first week of February I began testing my limits of riding in the cold. My feet always get cold first and I quickly realized that it is simply impossible to stay warm for extended periods of time when the temperature is below about 15 degrees. Even at 15 degrees I could ride all day but would end up with minor frostbite.
By mid-winter, I had fallen into a routine. I would check the weather forecast for the coming weekend on a Monday and if the weather looked manageable I would decide on a route. Once I created a route in Strava I was locked in and fully committed to the ride. I wouldn’t ever double-check the weather later in the week. Once I had a ride in mind I was going to attempt it regardless of what the weather was. Predictably, this behavior resulted in some pretty nasty weather conditions. On this particular weekend, the third weekend of February, I decided to tour the Catskills. I read about these mountains as a kid but had never been. So naturally I didn’t really check the weather, I just made up my mind. I was going to go see the Catskills. Period.
I left Hanover after my last class of the day on Friday. It was a typical New England winter day. Grey and cold with a strong headwind from the South. I followed the Connecticut River south before cutting west through the Green Mountains of Vermont. As I rode past Bromley and Stratton ski resorts the overcast skies gave way to darker storm clouds and I was given a warm Green Mountain welcome by some burly snow squalls. By the time I dropped into Manchester Center, the snow had subsided and I was treated to a brief reprise of scattered sun before the sun dropped below the horizon, taking the temperature down with it. These brief moments of golden-hour sun after a long day of hard biking make everything worth it. I was awash with what can only be described as euphoria. There is nothing in this world that brings me more joy than exploring new places on my bike. For the next couple of hours, I continued working my way south before setting up camp at the base of Mount Greylock in Massachusetts. I cleared away the snow, set up my bivy, ate a can of cold lentils, and settled down for a nice night’s sleep.
When you don’t check the forecast you don’t have much ground to be surprised by the weather. Nonetheless, I wasn’t super excited to wake up to a couple of inches of fresh snow. I shook the snow out of my bike cleats and mentally prepared myself for a rough day ahead. It was 20° and snow was still falling. I had never ridden my road bike in a snow storm before, but I was confident I would be fine because I had ridden in 20° temps many times before. Within a minute of breaking camp I realized I had made a mistake in my logic. Riding in the snow itself is not a problem, it is the snowmelt on the roads that poses a problem. Even though it was well below freezing, any snow landing on the road melted under the wight of passing cars with the aid of copious amounts of salt. Within minutes I was soaked to the bone. None of my gear was waterproof. The water went straight through my shoe covers and my thin legwarmers did little to keep my legs warm. The spray from passing cars covered me in a shower of salty water. Within an hour my extremities went numb. Around the hour mark I started noticing the first signs of hypothermia. Before long I was a cold wretched mess. The temps dropped and the roads started accumulating a layer of snow, but it was too late for me. Now I was dealing with the worst of both worlds. The roads were treacherously slick and I was sopping wet. My ride quickly became a game of “Can I make it to the next gas station before the hypothermia causes me to crash?” I would ride for an hour or two before stopping at a gas station to warm up. I would go into the bathrooms and strip down to my base layer. I would try to use plastic bags to make waterproof shoe covers. I would wrap my foot in a plastic bag, then put a sock on top of the plastic bag, then a plastic bag between the sock and shoe, then a third plastic bag over the top of the shoe under the shoe cover. This system would keep my feet dry for about 30 minutes. Once my feet got wet I could ride for another hour before I needed to warm my feet back up. Frostnip is fine, but I was worried about permanent damage from true frostbite. I fell into this routine. 30 minutes in a bathroom to warm up, 30 minutes of bearable riding, an hour of hypothermic misery, and then another bathroom stop. It wasn’t the most efficient way to ride, but I was slowly making my way towards the Catskills. By the time I reached Poughkeepsie, the snow started to let up and I even glimpsed some clear skies as I crossed the Hudson River. Unfortunately, the departure of the storm was aided by a strong westerly wind that now became a block headwind for me. I was finally able to ride without fear of losing my toes or losing control of my bike in a hypothermic fit though, so I wasn’t one to complain about some wind. As I rode over the Shawangunk Mountains I was encouraged by the beautiful views and drying roads. I was finally nearing the Catskills! My momentary joy quickly dissipated however as the sun began setting. I was caught in a violent snow squall just as I began the 1,000 ft. descent into Napanoch. I can’t ever remember being so thoroughly cold. By the time I pulled into town, I was so hypothermic I could hardly ride my bike. I couldn’t hold my steering straight. The sun had set, but I had been so cold I was worried that if I stopped to get my light out of my bags I wouldn’t be able to get back on my bike. To be completely honest I was starting to get scared. I had covered a lot of miles, but it had been the most miserable day of my life. I didn’t know how much further I could push myself. I managed to find my way into a Wal-Mart. I collapsed in the bathroom and stripped naked. I lay down underneath the hand dryer and let the warm air wash over me. It took about 30 minutes before I stopped shaking. I spent another 30 minutes on the floor before I was strong enough to stand up. I was an absolute mess. I would like to take this time to apologize to all of the Wal-Mart patrons who just wanted to use the bathroom but had to deal with the sight of my sorry ass splayed out on the floor. I managed to pull myself together and prepared to make my push through the Catskills. It was dark out but I wanted to make it another 60+ miles so I could get out of the Catskills for the night. My sleeping bag was only rated to 30° and I knew I would be in trouble if I tried to camp in the mountains where the low was in the single digits. I pulled myself together and turned up my music all the way up. As I made my way out of the Wal-Mart parking lot I couldn’t help but laugh at my predicament. These miserable days make for the best experiences. During my hour-and-a-half stop at Wal-Mart, the snow had moved out and the roads had dried out. It was cold, very cold, but I quickly warmed up as I climbed into the Catskills. The roads were quiet and the woods stood still as I pedaled through the tunnel of light my headlight cast before me. In an ironic twist of fate I never actually got to see the Catskills because it was dark as I rode through them. As I dropped into the Hudson River Valley the cold started fighting back. I made it to Saugerties, NY shortly before midnight. While the town slept I rode down Main Street with a feeling of contentment that is only possible after a successful day of suffering like the one I had been subjected to. I coasted under the street lights and sat up with my hands off the bars, spread wide like I was flying. I closed my eyes and felt the cold wash over me. For the first time in my training, I allowed myself to be proud of the work I had put in. Pushing through the misery for 15 hours allowed me to gain a new appreciation for the Pan-American process. It had been the most miserable day I can remember, but I only have positive takeaways from the experience.
I usually find that after a bad day, I have a good day. I had hit rock bottom on Day 2, I figured it could only go up from there. As I slipped my feet into my frozen cleats and wiped the frost off my sunglasses I kept telling myself “You can’t appreciate the sunrise if it is always light out.” As corny as it may sound, I knew I was right. I was ready to have a great day. Call it good karma for all the misery I had suffered through the past two days. The sun rose over the Hudson River and lit up my face with a big smile. Fueled by Dunkin’ Donuts and 7-Eleven I made my all the way up the Hudson River Valley, through Rutland, Vermont, and up to Killington. The sun was setting as I donned my extra layers for the descent into Woodstock, Vermont at hour 11. I ended the day at 220 miles with a huge smile on my face knowing this was just the beginning of what was to become a fruitful 6 months of bikepacking training rides.
