One thing all cyclists — and nobody else in the world — know is that road biking and mountain biking are only distant cousins. They’re hardly related, really. Sure, both kinds of bikes have a superficial resemblance (though that’s disappearing, as many full-suspension mountain bikes have started looking more like motorcycles), but the way they work you out is different, the mood that makes you ride them is different, and the kind of fun you have is entirely different.

What I’ve been thinking about lately, though, is what I think might be the most telling difference of all: how you react to the unexpected is different.

The Treacherous Speed Bump

I’ve been riding the track bike a lot lately. Time will tell whether that’s because of the novelty of it or because fixed gear riding is going to be my thing, but for right now, that’s the bike I’m choosing when I have a choice (ie, when it’s not raining).

But I’m still making lots of mistakes.

There are some big speed bumps on the road through Marymoor park, which I go through on the way to work. On my regular road bike, I always stood up and coasted over those.

So of course without thinking about it, I tried to do the same thing on the fixie. But as I stood up, my crank stayed in motion, propelling me forcefully up and forward as the right crank rotated up. This happened, of course, as I went over the speed bump. This put me in a nose wheelie. On a fixie. At about 18mph.

In reality, the rear wheel probably was never more than six inches above the ground, but it felt like I was about to do a high-speed road endo. Luckily, I managed to sit down, and there was no traffic on the road, so my embarrassment was mine and mine alone to enjoy (until now, of course).

Crazy Legs

That’s not my only recent near-miss on the track bike. On short, moderate downhills, I’ve been trying to use my own power to keep the fixie’s speed under control. That’s worked fine.

When I tried to do that on a long, fairly steep downhill, though, I wound up going faster and faster — my legs weren’t able to exert reverse force quickly enough to keep up. Before long, the bike had my legs spinning so fast I started bumping up and down in my seat. I was close enough to out of control that I was afraid to move my left hand out of the drops even for the short time it took to grab the front brake. That was the only option, though, and I managed to bring the bike’s speed (and my legs) back under control before getting to the stoplight. Which I’m going to go ahead and call a good thing.

Hairpin

My closest call on a road bike, though, was when I was coming down the Alpine Loop one day. It was one of those rides where everything is going perfectly. You’re feeling fast, you’re nailing the turns, and your bike feels more like a part of you than a machine has any right to feel.

And then I hit a turn I didn’t expect. As I came out of a fast sweeping right turn, I expected the road to straighten. Instead, it turned sharply left. To the side of the road was gravel, then a steep bank that went down and down and down.

I was going about 35 entering the turn, and knew as I approached the apex there was no way I was going to make it. I locked up both brakes and — instead of high-siding like I should have — I skidded to a stop in the gravel. I got off the bike and walked around for ten minutes, ‘til the adrenaline shakes finally wore off and I could ride again.

Mountain Near Misses

The thing about mountain biking is, you have near misses all the time. On “Frank,” my closest mountain bike ride back in Utah, you start the ride by zooming downhill on ledgy singletrack, with a 50-foot drop six inches to your right. I’ve put a foot down to keep myself from falling off that cliff several times.

On Grove (another favorite mountain bike ride back in UT), you’re riding on loose shale with a steep, sharp slide 100 feet down to the river just one dab away at all times.

In Leadville one year, coming down the Powerline trail, I dropped my front wheel into an erosion trench and managed to clip out as I got ejected over the front of my bike. I’ll never know how I managed to land on my feet, but I did. Better yet, my bike came flying after me. I caught it, righted it, and kept on going. It was the most beautiful near-miss of my life.

The fact is, just about any time you’re on a mountain bike, you’re in a state of near miss.

The Big Difference

And that — I think — is the real distinguishing factor between mountain biking and road biking. When I’m on a road bike, I’m all about control. A near miss on a road bike represents a failure and is downright mortifying — not to mention terrifying.

A near miss on a mountain bike, on the other hand, makes you laugh. You seek the near miss out. Really, a near miss on a mountain bike means…well…that you’re out mountain biking.

Today’s weight: 160.4

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been having to quit work by 5:30 if I want to bike home if I want to avoid riding home in the dark. And before that, I’d been skipping a couple of bike commutes because of the rain.

Well, the rain isn’t going to stop — this is Seattle — and it’s only going to get darker. And this year, I want to bike through the whole winter.

So over the weekend, I finished “winterizing” my bike.

Fender Heaven

I had fenders on my road bike last year — briefly. They were always rubbing on the wheels and making rattling noises. Then at a start once, my toe caught the bottom of the front fender and tore it loose, after which I just got rid of the fenders and abandoned Winter riding for the year. Yeah, that was the year I got up to 192 lbs.

This year, I did things a little smarter. I took my road bike in to Sammamish Valley Cycle, where Kent Peterson said they specialize in fitting fenders to road bikes. $30 for the fenders, $20 for the labor.

It was the deal of the century.

I’m honestly not even sure what brand these fenders used to be, and it almost doesn’t matter. By the time these guys finished cutting, fitting, zip-tie-ing, and ad-hoc-bracketing these fenders, they were a Sammamish Valley Cycle Special. They don’t rub, they don’t rattle more than is reasonable, and they fit my bike and give me great coverage.

With these on, riding in the rain has beeen nowhere near as miserable. I don’t love it — I doubt I’ll ever seek out a ride just because it’s raining — but it’s no longer a reason to abandon the ride.

I Will Not Call This Subheading “Let There Be Light,” Because Everyone Who Has Ever Written About Bike Lights Has Used the Subheading “Let There Be Light.”

One of the things I like about living in the NW is how much daylight you get in the summer. I mean, you get great heaping globs of daylight. It gets light at 5 and doesn’t get dark ‘til 10.

On the flip side, though, is fall and winter. Already, it doesn’t get light ‘til around 8, and it’s close to dark by 6. And it’s going to get much, much darker. If I didn’t have a good light setup, I could just forget about biking to work.

Luckily, years of mountain biking at night has left me with all the lights I could need. I’m using a NiteRider setup I’ve had for years. It only holds about a 90 minute charge, but that’s enough for commuting, and with dual halogen beams, it’s super bright. I’ve zip-tied the bottle cage-mounted battery in so it won’t rattle out, then uses more zip ties to route the cable along the bottom side of the top tube. Then, by setting the switch and status indicator up on the stem, I’ve left most of the handlebars free.

Interlude: An Ode to Zip Ties

Between the fenders and the light setup, I estimate I have 16 or more zip ties on my bike now. Apart from duct tape, has there ever been a more useful thing in the world? I love their elegant simplicity. I love how cheap they are. I love that you don’t need any tools at all to use them. I love the sound they make as they go on. I love how snugly they hold stuff together. I love how you can chain them together to make as big a fastener as you like. I love that when you want to remove them, you just snip them with scissors or cut them with a knife.

Let’s hear it from zip ties. Yay.

Carrying More Stuff

In the summer, it’s easy to fit everything I need for my commute into a small messenger bag: shorts, t-shirt, towel, computer and that’s about it. When biking to work in the Fall and Winter, I find it’s almost impossible to fit everything into my old Timbuktu messenger bag.

What you’re looking at here is:

• long pants
• t-shirt
• sweater
• socks
• towel
• tights for trip home
• long-sleeved jersey for trip home
• computer in carrying case

All this doesn’t even come close to fitting in my messenger bag. And with all the rain and crud, I wouldn’t dare put the computer in, anyway.

Luckily for me, a little startup company — Banjo Brothers — has sent me a prototype of their big messenger bag to test. The thing’s got a 2000 inch capacity, so it holds all of this stuff, easily (and it came with a computer sleeve, which is nice), and so far seems totally weather-proof.

I’ve only had this a couple days, but it seems like it may be just the thing for making it possible to bike commute right through the winter. Expect to hear more on this bag as I get used to it.

Weight Penalty

Of course, a big bag with all that gear isn’t light. I’m carrying about 14 pounds on my back, including up Inglewood Hill (slooooowwly) at the end of each day. Plus, between the fenders and the lights, my road bike now weighs about the same as a mid-priced mountain bike: 23.2 lbs. I’m not sure why, but you can really feel that five pounds on a road bike — a lot more than you can feel it on yourself. The bike is hard to get up to speed and just doesn’t feel as limber.

I guess, though, that riding in the fall and winter isn’t about speed, it’s just about staying on your bike. I figure if I can do that, I’ll have a better chance of keeping the weight off.

Today’s weight: 163.2