Eight hours later. We’ve been battered with rain and, now, howling wind. The fast moving gray clouds have filled the late afternoon sky, and there is just a hint of orange on the horizon, a sign that somewhere up there, the sun is shining. The temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees. I swing my leg over my bike, cursing my jacket choice (my rain shell instead of the fleece), and pull out of the parking lot and on to the first hill. The wind pushes back against me. Here, it is steady, threatening to stop me in my tracks. I climb a bit more and find a bit shelter thanks to an incline.

This doesn’t last. I hear a sound like fabric tearing, and I know what’s coming. The wind hits my right side, and I lean and swerve to compensate. Cresting the hill, my speed barely rises on the downhill. For the next few miles, it is the same thing–a bit calm, the sound of the wind through the trees and houses, and then it’s blast. And I never know where it will hit me–just the sound, a moment of trepidation, and then the moment of impact. I lean into the gust, then wobble as it stops.

Descending into the Pine Creek valley, I’m protected a bit from the wind, and there’s little more than a steady, light headwind. I’m getting pelted with something, either snow or detritus from the trees, I cannot tell which. As I approach the downstream mouth of the valley, the gusts pick up again, and I can’t help but think ahead to the 62nd Street Bridge. There are few bad weather moments that I dread more than crossing the river in the wind. I am completely exposed, feeling as if I could simply be plucked off the deck at any moment and thrown into the waters of the Allegheny.

The bridge does not disappoint. I am sheltered on the ramp, as it approaches the deck in the middle of the bridge. But I hear the wind whistling through the gaps in the steel and concrete. I slow a bit, allowing a line of car to pass before I merge on the deck. Immediately, as I leave the shelter of the ramp, I’m pushed leftward by the wind. I grip the bars a bit tighter. Then, suddenly, the wind changes directions and I’m pushed to the right. I grip tighter still and set my jaw. The white circle cast ahead by my headlight dances as the wind pushes left and right. Thankfully, traffic is light, and I simply settle into the middle of my lane, feeling only slightly more comfortable. As I crest the rise, I focus on the traffic light, knowing that I can relax soon. Soon I’m spinning out my little gear. Closer, closer. The light changes to red, I brake, and unclip a foot from the pedal. I sit on the top tube and let out a deep breath. The rest of the ride will be uneventful, and I will likely have a tailwind, at least for the short stretch on Butler Street.

Posted on 1 December 2006