So, it was me and The Snow Dog again yesterday. I decided to go in search of the elusive packed down snowmobile trails that could be found by riding from the house. I am not one to drive to a ride unless it is to Camp Ingawanis.
This meant that I would go partially through the commute to work route, which I knew would be in dire need of beating in, and that meant pushing the bike. And boy did I! I ended up going all the way over to Westfield Road, a slog of over a mile, post-holing snow all the way. I know that is nothing compared to what the guys sometimes do at Arrowhead, or the Iditarod, but it ain't easy all the same.
Well, once I got through that, I hit up down town Waterloo, then headed East to go to the former Mitchell sandpits to find any snowmobile trail I could. It was either ice, frozen, slick snow, or muddy, ice ridden pools all the way over there. That or busy side streets. But the promise of packed in snowmobile trail was worth it.
|Mush! (Not the good kind.)|
Still- here I was and I was going to give it a go. I got on and started pedaling, but within a few feet I knew it wasn't good. I was sinking in, and the snow was shifting sideways under the tires. You know- just like all Winter long so far. There was just too much snow, not enough moisture in it, and not enough compaction to make fat biking on this foot plus depth snow possible. I was dejected.
So I turned around and took a slightly different, but no less icy, route back home. All the way I figured that while the ride was a bust, I was getting something out of this that might pay off later. Base miles, exercise, mental training, (because the riding really wasn't fun at all), and I just kept reminding myself that good times were coming and this ride would make those times better times.
Or something like that, anyway!