I realised yesterday that we’ve been sold a lie. That old adage, ‘winter miles equals summer smiles’, has been used by riders across the decades to cajole themselves, and others, into getting out on the bike when the weather is fit for little more than hiding under a duvet with tea and toast spread thickly with jam and butter.
A bit like telling kids that they’ll grow up to be superhero strong like Popeye if they eat their spinach, the old ‘winter miles’ trick turns out to be just that. A trick.
Not that there’s anything wrong with spinach, or winter miles for that matter. But if you want summer smiles, all you need to do is get out there and ride, in the sun.
This much occurred to me yesterday during what was almost certainly my first proper summer ride of the year, at least here in the southern UK. If you live in Florida, or Texas, or Australia (other sunny places are available) please don’t email. Rest assured I am already jealous of your sunshine quota.
But it’s probably the very scarcity of proper hot, sunny days in the UK that makes us Brits so bloody grateful for them. Forget winter miles – I could have spent the cold months wholly dedicated to the consumption of beer and kebabs and I’d still have been smiling like a loon yesterday (do loons smile?).
Every year in the UK Mother Nature makes us wait – some years longer than others, and this has been a long, long one – and then she hits us with it: sunshine, warmth, birdsong and trees in bright green leaf.
Admittedly, if I’d been more dedicated to the frankly dubious pastime of riding in miserable weather this winter, perhaps I’d have been smiling a bit more on the hills. Strava informs me, with some disdain, that I’ve ridden 516 miles this year. Not my most fulsome five months in terms of miles, but then, when you’re riding gravel at around 12mph average, it does tend to bring the totals down.
This is what I was doing yesterday, at least in part. Riding the quiet lanes up and down steep, pine-clad hills, searching out new byways and bridleways between fields buzzing with insects and birds, and claiming new tiles on the map that I’d long been eager to tick off. All of it was just a joy, despite a rather unambitious (again, Strava) nine hours per month in the saddle over the four months of winter.
So this coming December, when I’m worrying that I’ll be unable to turn my frown upside down in May unless I get outside and eat mud for 45 minutes for the third time that week, perhaps I’ll cut myself a break. Those summer smiles will be there, come what may. Meanwhile, long may the warm weather continue.
