Removing the reasons to stop
There’s a moment every year when the temperature drops, the light changes, and a quiet question creeps in.
Is this where I stop?
Not dramatically. Not forever. Just for the season.
The bike stays in the shed. The gloves go in the cupboard. Riding becomes something you “used to do” until spring rolls back around.
I’ve learned that winter riding isn’t really about bravery or endurance. It’s about understanding what actually makes riding uncomfortable — and quietly dealing with those things one by one.
Cold air isn’t the enemy.
Wind is.
A bit of preparation goes a long way. Reducing wind on your chest. Keeping your hands warm. Layering properly. Riding a little slower. Giving the road a bit more respect. None of it is complicated, and none of it needs to turn into a shopping list.
I don’t ride in snow.
I’m very cautious if there’s ice about.
That’s just common sense.
Other than that, winter riding is just like summer riding — just colder, really.
What I’ve found is that when you remove the small irritations, the ride itself doesn’t change. The connection is still there. The quiet moments still exist. The sense of movement, of space, of being properly present — that’s all unchanged.
In some ways, winter riding is even more rewarding. The roads are quieter. The air feels sharper. You notice things you rush past in warmer months. It asks you to slow down and pay attention, and that’s no bad thing.
This isn’t advice, and it certainly isn’t a challenge to anyone else. It’s simply how I choose to carry on doing something I enjoy, all year round, without turning it into a test of toughness.
Winter riding isn’t about suffering.
It’s about removing the reasons to stop.
And sometimes, that’s all it takes to keep the fun going.
Hope isn’t what they promise you. It’s how you carry on when they don’t deliver.
— Dave Carrera
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