A Biker's Thoughts on a Winter Solstice Night

It is the night of the Winter Solstice, the date of the least amount of sun. For years, I have felt depressed as Fall deepened into Winter, as the days got shorter. When the cold and dark arrive, even leaving the house becomes difficult.

A couple weeks ago, a co-worker cornered me in a weak moment and told me he had an extra ticket to a winter concert, by Ring of Kerry, an Irish singing group. During this time of year, when my lack of sociability is at its height, I uncharacteristically agreed to go. The company and the singing were good, and during the intermission we found ourselves talking with a woman who had lived in San Diego for 50 years. It was about 5 degrees outside, with a below zero windchill, so I commented that she must really miss Sad Diego this time of year. She responded, "Oh, you get sick of the sun too."

And during this darkest of seasons, I found reason to celebrate. I have never been sick of the sun. I had never understood that was the gift I receive each year from life here in Minnesota, from a life with extreme cold and long hours of darkness. I am never sick of the sun.

In the spring, the lengthening days meant that only a few brief stops were needed to kick the snow off the bike trail. This summer, each beautiful day was a cause for a bike ride or an afternoon sitting outside in lawn chairs with friends and family. In the fall, each waning hour of sun was one more hour of riding. And as the season came to a close, my new friends and I biked in the cold, because we knew we would soon be relegated to telling tales of rides past or dreams for rides in seasons to come.

I wonder what it would be like to bike in a place with no seasons. At the end of a hard day at work would I say to myself, "Why don't I just ride tomorrow?" Would I see a cool 50 degree evening as too cool to ride, because the sun will be out tomorrow? I always thought I'd bike more miles in a place with so much sun, but now I wonder what would I chase if not the diminishing hours of daylight.

So this Winter Solstice night, as I light a candle to fight against the dark, I celebrate this gift of the Yule. I am not sick of the Sun.

The intersection of passions on the Lake Wobegon Trail

Beginning in late October and certainly in November, it became clear that that for at least a brief period of time, two athletes who rarely meet were sharing the same trail. As temperatures dropped, the number of bikers on the trail also dropped. And by mid-November, the only bikers on the trail were avid cyclists, mostly members of the New Friends Bike Club. They all wore helmets, knew how to dress to stay warm without impeding cycling, and had a look of desperation in their eyes. Each of us knew that our season was ending, that any ride might be the last until Spring.

But at the same time, there appeared a new athlete on the trail, one rarely seen in earlier months--the cross country skier on roller skis. Often in groups, but always with a look of joy and optimism, these skiers could not wait for the snow. They knew their time was coming, and they couldn't wait.

So for that brief period of time those who love biking so much that they brave below freezing temperatures to eke out another mile, and those who love cross country skiing so much that they can't wait for the snow, met on the trail.