I explained to D that there are 3 kinds of people: Those who would ride it in any condition, those who would never do the ride, and those who would wake up, check the weather and then make a decision.

I studied the weather. Accuweather. Weather.com. NY Times’ weather page. Then I just said ‘what the hell’ and went. Sometimes the weather is wrong. But not this time.

Scot W. rode really hard up St. Nick. Then he had to take his leg warmers off on the GWB he had worked so hard. Right on the other side of the bridge it started spitting. Around Nyack it started raining, but it was still over 40. Scot attacked, I followed, and Chris L. joined. Scot flatted just past Rockland Lake. I suspected we had not seen the last of him.

At Haverstraw it got really cold, and the rain was coming down pretty hard. We pushed on. It took 10 minutes to eat a PB&H sandwich. 5 to get it out of the bag, 5 to chew it. The whole time it got wetter and wetter and easier to eat. I saved the bag to put on one lucky hand later.

Chris said he’d been telling himself for 30 minutes that you can’t get frostbite if it’s above freezing. I had been thinking the same thing. However, there could still be a long period of pain and then numbness even if frostbite never sets in. Fingers were useless for shifting, which was accomplished by pawing at the levers or leaning forward and pushing the the heel of the hand. Feet were fine, wrapped in plastic bags with chemical warmers under my booties.

At the Inn we stopped to wring the water out of our gloves and eat and drink. It was locked, so we stood under an awning. The OA guys showed up after about 5 minutes, seeming chipper for some reason. I put on this awful throwaway plastic rain jacket, and crammed the plastic bag from my sandwich bag between my glove liner and lobster glove. Lucky right hand.

Chris and I set off to ride home, with no Scot in sight. Then Scot flew past us also going south just as 9W starts to climb away from the river. He had taken another road to the police station to get his card signed and must have just turned around. I was shocked to see his bare legs and uncovered shoes and summer cycling cap, as if the temperature were 55 instead of 33.

Scot and Chris dropped me up the the hill, so I had to ride back alone. With glasses and stupid rain jacket on it was hard to see the road or hear cars coming up, so I took it a bit slow. Making the turn inland past Haverstraw it warmed up and I stopped to shed the glasses and jacket. Unable to remove my helmet, I tried to use my teeth to pull off my gloves, but realized after several tries that I’d been biting my numb fingers, not just the glove. I gave up and ripped off the jacket. I saw a cycling ghost in a white kit as I rode off. He was headed south, but then turned around and went back north. I kept waiting for him to catch me, but he was gone.

Moving faster now, and warmer. At Piermont I started to feel human again. At the bridge I decided to go back to the park even though home was closer. Legs were tired and aching. Skin stinging. There was a cruel headwind on the slight uphill on 5th to Engineers’ Gate. My front tire had gone flat in the last mile. Jack B. was there with a smile, cup of hot chocolate and a PB&J sandwich.