Broken but unbowed

It was early December. The computer-generated voice on my weather radio droned on about a winter storm warning, but when I looked out the kitchen window not a flake was flying in the halo of the streetlight across the road.

"Why not?" I asked myself and grabbed my lights and threw them in my messenger bag. I hadn't missed a single day of bike commuting that fall semester. I had to keep my streak alive, particularly since the storm had yet to hit.

Getting to school that morning was easy; the pavement was dry. Later that morning waiting for class to start, one of my students said she saw me riding my bike to the university campus. "Didn't you hear about the snow coming?" she asked. I nodded. "Don't you have a car?" I ran down the full gamut of my vehicles for her: one new car, one old truck and two motorcycles. She looked at me with what I call the freshman stare. It was too hard to explain, so I just shrugged.

My student, however, did get me thinking about my behavior. Just why did I feel compelled to pedal into work every day? Was I just an obsessive old coot? The village crank? Perhaps. Surely this was something to think about and monitor in the future.

That afternoon as I unlocked my bike from the rack, I could see that four or five inches of heavy snow had piled up throughout the day. Maybe riding in wasn't such a smart idea. The wind had shifted to the north and would be howling down the steep hill I have to climb to get home. But I had made my own bed so I had to jump under the covers.

When I got to the hill, I had to dismount and push my bike for a quarter of a mile due to a triple whammy of slick pavement, deep snow and the nasty headwind. Needless to say, that day was an adventure, albeit one that had me smiling as I slid down the driveway toward the garage, safe and sound. It really was gratifying to defy the weather, the cultural expectation of driving, and the talking heads on T.V. who try to scare us inside with their fears of windchill and frostbite.

Storm No. 2

The winter continued warm and mild, making bike commuting relatively easy. Toward the end of January, though, a similar storm rolled through Wisconsin and bringing five inches of snow, this time on top of an icy sheen of freezing drizzle. The weather radio had predicted one to three inches, droning on about freezing rain, sleet and snow, but this was an all snow event. After I'd cleaned up, dressed and finished my breakfast, the plows still hadn't cleared the streets in my neighborhood. For sure, the sidewalks I used to get to work would be snow clogged. They were lowest on the city's snow removal priority list.

I went outside to test the conditions. The studded tires on my 29er couldn't cut through the snow to get purchase, and my trusty 26-inch mountain bike commuter with regular knobbies was no better. I nearly crashed it on a trial run down the driveway. I needed a snow bike.

Susan suggested I walk, which she felt should count toward my streak, but I hadn't given myself enough time to do so. For a moment I considered skiing, but I knew later in the day the roads and sidewalks would get plowed and I'd have to walk the two and a half miles home with skis and poles in hand.

I hated to admit it, but my long run of self-propelled commuting was over.

Reluctantly, I went inside and grabbed the truck keys. The risk of a head injury or broken bones overshadowed my five-month stretch of car-free commuting. The curmudgeon in me wanted to continue my streak, but for once I listened to my better judgment.

Still, I had to rationalize my decision as I drove down - or rather slid down - the hill in my four-wheel drive truck. Snow seems to bring out our worst driving skills, but encased in two tons of Nissan steel and plastic, I felt a lot safer from the shenanigans of other American drivers. I told myself that after work I would run some much needed errands - pick up dog food and sunflower seeds for the birds from Fleet Farm - and I needed my truck to haul the heavy bags. Driving wasn't such a bad idea after all, I told myself.

Why I don't drive

My drive in, though, simply reaffirmed why I bike commute. The exception proved my rule. First of all, I spent five minutes sweeping the snow off my truck, then chipping stubborn ice off the windshield, the side windows and mirrors. On the drive in, I had to stop at five lights. On a bike, I have to stop at two lights at most, my bike route avoiding all but these two at the most congested intersections.

Then I had to park over a quarter of a mile away from the building, the parking situation exacerbated by the unplowed lots. Fortunately, I had four-wheel drive and an old truck so I didn't hesitate to ram my way into a snow covered parking spot. With my bike, I either lock it up 20 feet from the door or take my bike up to my office. I can literally ride door-to-door. Very few people believe me when I argue that it's quicker to ride my bike to school than drive.

Really, though, it comes down to the fact that I like to ride my bike throughout the year in all kinds of weather. It makes me smile. Driving in the city, on the other hand, leaves me irritated and impatient. After riding a bike for so long, driving in the city feels utterly inefficient. I spend thousands of dollars every year to buy and maintain a fleet of vehicles, and it's the 20-year-old purple and gold Rockhopper I cost me a pitcher of beer that puts a smile on my face.

The next day I began a new streak.

Mark Parman lives in Wausau, Wisconsin, where he teaches English and journalism at the University of Wisconsin-Marathon County.